


Ill-Gotten Gains

by messageredacted



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Background Sips/Sjin, Background Zoey/Fiona, Blackrock Chronicles, Brief References To Prison Rape, Dissociation, Domesticity, F/F, Flux Buddies, Heists, Lots of explosions, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Rythna - Freeform, Slow Burn, cops and robbers AU, gta v - Freeform, stunt lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 67,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: Xephos Brindley, a businessman who represents a consortium of shadowy criminals, needs someone to procure a shipment of the military anti-riot gas PHLX-2 for his own nefarious purposes. The team he assembles for this heist includes a pair of crime buddies who are having trouble paying the rent; a meth cook and an explosives expert; and a trio of Stunt Lads whose ratings are falling. With this team on the job, nothing can go wrong. Probably.Meanwhile, Detective Rythian Hellstrand has been stalking the two criminals who left him horribly scarred in a bank robbery five years ago. His partner, Detective Zoey Proasheck, was also seriously injured, and while she has forgiven the perpetrators, Rythian can’t do the same. They were never arrested for their crimes, but he knows he’s going to catch them with their guards down some day.Today might just be that day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pictures are taken off my tv screen from my own game of GTA V, which is why they're such low quality. Dammit, GTA V, why can't you be available for Mac.
> 
> You can find a [map of San Andreas here](http://www.igta5.com/images/gta-v-map-satellite-small.jpg) if you need it.

### Lalna

  


It was raining in Los Santos and the streets had a plastic sheen to them. Rush hour traffic packed the city streets, angry brake lights shining long red lines on the pavement. A dozen car lengths ahead of them, the traffic lights had cycled through two rounds of reds, but they hadn’t made it through the intersection yet.

“I can’t believe this,” Nano said, her elbow on the window and her hand fisted in her hair. “We were supposed to be there half an hour ago.”

Lalna was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music coming in low from the stereo. “Text them,” he said. The car ahead of them moved forward half a car length. Lalna let his car roll up until his bumper was nearly touching the car ahead, then stopped.

“You have his number.”

Lalna braced his shoulders against the seat and lifted his hips so he could shove a hand into his pocket. Ahead of them, the traffic lights turned yellow. Nano stretched over and leaned on the horn.

Lalna got his phone out of his pocket and dropped back down into the seat. “Hey, hey.” He batted her hand away. “Shotgun doesn’t touch the steering wheel.”

“ _Shotgun_ could have gotten us there in time if _someone_ had let her drive,” Nano snapped. She snatched his phone out of his grip and typed in his password. “What’s his number under?”

“Uh, I don’t remember. Give it back, I’ll do it.” Lalna held out his hand. Nano hunched back against the door, scrolling through his contacts.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you have Mr. Brindley in your phone as ‘Crime Lord’,” she said.

“I wasn’t going to put in his real name, was I?” Lalna made a grab for the phone.

“Watch the road,” Nano said. “I’m texting him.”

Lalna subsided and let the car roll forward another car length. “Do you think Xephos is his real name? I wouldn’t name my kid Xephos.”

“You’re one to talk,” Nano said. “ _Lalna_.”

“Shut up.”

“At least Nano isn’t my real name.” Nano tossed the phone back to him. Lalna fumbled it against his chest. “I told him we were stuck in traffic.”

Lalna glanced down at his phone, then dropped it into his lap. They were four car lengths from the front now, so they’d probably make it through in one more cycle of the lights. The warehouse was only a block from here.

“If he doesn’t hire us, you’ll have to sell yourself on the street so we can make the rent,” Nano said as the light ahead of them turned red.

“Me? Why me?” Lalna shot her a look. “You could rock the little Asian schoolgirl look.”

“No, I’d be your pimp.” Nano pulled her feet up onto the seat, then made a face. “And no, ew, don’t say that. Now I know what you fap to.”

“I do not,” Lalna protested. He waited a beat, then added, “But now that I have the mental image of you as my pimp—”

She hit him on the shoulder and he laughed. The light ahead of them turned green and this time Lalna revved the engine loudly. The cars ahead of them slowly edged forward across the intersection. Lalna jerked the wheel to the side, blasting past two cars waiting to turn, and roared up the half block to the entrance of the warehouse parking lot. They pulled into the lot doing forty, then skidded to a stop next to a rusty red pickup and a dented white Banshee. There were three shitty cars parked against the wall of the warehouse, glistening with rain, their license plates covered in duct tape and windows tinted illegally dark.

As soon as the car came to a full stop, Nano sighed explosively and opened her door, bouncing out. Lalna shut off the car and climbed out, stretching his back.

“I guess that wasn’t bad for rush hour,” he said. Droplets were already gathering in the faux fur of his coat collar and the knit of his pink and green beanie. Nano, more pragmatic, pulled up the hood of her black sweatshirt over her hair.

“If you hadn’t spent so long trying to find your sunglasses, maybe we’d have made it here sooner.” She splashed through a shallow puddle on the pitted pavement, heading for the loading dock entrance. 

“Think we’re the last ones?” Lalna hopped the last puddle and started up the stairs, each one painted with a fading yellow safety stripe. Nano just snorted. Lalna reached the door first and held it open for Nano, who slunk through it, her jeans soaked to the knees.

“Sounds like some jokers are trying to barge their way in here,” came a voice down the hallway as Lalna stepped in, letting the door swing shut. A tall, lanky man with a pencil mustache and a semi-automatic appeared at the other end of the hallway, leaning out of a doorway.

“Hey, Sips,” said Lalna, scuffing his shoes on the rug to dry them.

Sips leveled the gun at them. “Want me to shoot them, boss?”

“Let them in, Sips,” someone said inside the room. “I want to get this meeting started some time today.”

Sips lowered the gun and waved them through with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“Like you even know how to use that thing,” Nano said to him as they passed.

“I’ll have you know, I’m very skilled at handling a weapon.” Sips waggled his eyebrows. “Isn’t that right, Lalna?”

They entered a long room with high ceilings. Skylights let in the dismal afternoon light. A man in a business suit stood next to some wooden crates and a chalkboard, looking peeved. Sjin, who for once was wearing a shirt over his bright red jogging bottoms, was pacing the floor restlessly. Three other guys sat on crates, looking bored.

“Okay,” said the man in the business suit, clapping his hands. “Let’s get started.”

“Finally,” grumbled one of the men on the crates, not looking up from his phone screen. His voice sounded familiar but Lalna couldn’t quite place it.

“Lalna couldn’t find his sunglasses,” Nano said.

“Shut up,” said Lalna. “You didn’t help me look.”

“Guys,” said the man in the business suit a little louder. “Quiet.”

Lalna and Nano settled down on some crates while the man paced to a free-standing chalkboard and dragged it closer. It read PHLX-2 SHIPMENT on the top in big letters.

“Most of you know me already. I’ve talked to you all on the phone. I’m Xephos,” said the man, clapping his hands together decisively like he was giving a pep talk. His voice had a note of practiced jocularity to it, like he was used to bullshitting in front of an audience. “I’m going to be paying you.”

“Woo,” said another man on the crates. “Money.”

Xephos ignored him. “I represent a consortium with…diverse interests. Right now, what we’re interested in is this shipment by the US military. They’ve been manufacturing a non-lethal aggression suppression gas called PHLX-2. You might know it by the drug from which it’s derived, ‘flux’. The stuff on the street is a crude chemical cooked up in bathtubs. This stuff is over eighty times more powerful, and is a proprietary recipe.”

“They’re going to use it to suppress riots?” Nano asked dubiously. “Doesn’t it make you eat people’s faces off or whatever, like bath salts?”

Xephos shrugged. “They haven’t perfected the formula yet. Anyway, that’s not important. What is important is that I’m going to pay you a quarter of a million dollars to deliver this shipment to me. A quarter of a million dollars _each_.”

Sjin whistled and Lalna and Nano exchanged a glance. Half a million dollars between the two of them could buy a lot of ramen and beer.

“What do you need us to do?” asked the shortest of the three men on the crates.

“You three.” Xephos indicated them. “You are going to do what you do best. Drive.”

“That’s not what Trott does best—” said the one with the phone before the short one elbowed him.

“You saw those three cars out there?” Xephos continued. “Those are going to get us to and from the heist.”

“Those shitheaps?” spoke up the third.

“They’re unobtrusive shitheaps, and they’re faster than they look. No one’s going to pay any attention to them.” Xephos turned his attention to Sips and Sjin. “You, meanwhile, are going to blow the doors off the armored truck and take out the two vehicle escorts. You get to work out how you want to do it. Just make sure the way is clear so these two—” he pointed to Lalna and Nano “—can extract the shipment. You two are going in armed and you’re not going to leave any witnesses, understand?”

“Got it,” said Nano. Lalna nodded.

“Good.” Xephos turned to the chalkboard. “This is how it’s going to work.”

  


* * *

  


### Rythian

  


Detective Rythian Hellstrand turned the key in the ignition and then sat, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. The windshield immediately started gathering raindrops, blurring the view of the street beyond. He unrolled his window halfway to let in the hot, muggy breeze, and rain started to fleck his arm.

It had been a really long day. Too much paperwork, too many calls. The city got bad when it was too hot—a lot of domestic violence on those days, people losing their tempers as the mercury rose—but the rainy city had its own drawbacks. There were a lot of car accidents on rainy days. A lot of suicides.

He reached for the crumpled bag of his dinner on the passenger’s seat. It was just a ham sandwich, bought at the gas station near work, and he’d only bought it because the imaginary Zoey in his head still nagged him about eating regularly. That would probably fade away over time, but for now he couldn’t skip a meal without imagining her worried looks.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he took the first bite of his sandwich. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen, already knowing who the text was from. He only had one contact in his phone, other than his boss.

Zoey: _snapchat me a picture of ur bed_

Rythian: _What?_

Zoey: _ur not still using the sofa bed right_

Zoey: _it’s been a month_

Rythian: _What’s snapchat?_

Zoey: _ok text me a picture of ur brand new bed_

Rythian: _That’s a weird thing to ask_

Zoey: _i want proof that u actually bought a new bed_

Rythian: _I’ve been busy_

Zoey: _rythian_

Zoey: _it’s been a month_

Zoey: _rythian_

Zoey: _buy an actual bed_

Zoey: _be an adult_

Zoey: _don’t make me feel guilty for moving out_

Zoey: _rythian_

Rythian: _The sofa bed is fine_

Zoey: _how are u going to take anyone back to ur place if u don’t have a bed_

Rythian: _I’m not taking anyone back to my place_

Rythian: _Certainly not by this weekend_

Zoey: _hey babe how about u spend the night at my place. oh wait I have to unfold this ancient saggy sofa bed that smells like dog. babe? babe? where are u going?_

Rythian: _I’ll buy a bed._

Zoey: _when u do_

Zoey: _download snapchat_

Zoey: _and snapchat me a picture of it_

Rythian: _Fine._

Zoey: _;*_

Rythian chuckled despite himself and tossed his phone onto the passenger’s seat next to him. He turned the key in the ignition just long enough for the windshield wipers to swipe once across the windshield, then turned it off again.

He was in the parking lot at the boardwalk by Vespucci Beach. The lot was nearly empty, given the rain and wind. He had parked several rows away from the car he had tailed here, and was now waiting for his quarry to return.

Zoey: _what r u up to_

Rythian: _You're not going to keep mothering me, are you?_

Zoey: _it's one of my favorite things tho_

Zoey: _r u home?_

Rythian: _Yeah_

Zoey: _o rly? Prove it. Which poster did I leave up in my bedroom when I moved out?_

Rythian hesitated. He hadn't even gone in there since she moved out last month.

Rythian: _Don't make me get off the couch_

Zoey: _you're out stalking again aren't you_

Rythian: _No of course not_

Zoey: _i've only been gone a month_

Zoey: _how long after i left did you start obsessing?_

Rythian: _I'm not obsessed_

Zoey: _lol_

Zoey: _I should ask you what posters are hanging in lalna's apartment_

Rythian: _You don't live here anymore_

Zoey: _i still care_

Zoey: _i don't want you turning into some sort of revenge obsessed machine again_

Rythian: _That never happened_

Up ahead, his quarry came into view around the edge of a souvenir shop. The small, dark haired woman was munching from a bag of popcorn. Kim "Nanosounds" Richards. Apart from the usual parking violations and speeding tickets, she had two arrests for assault, though the charges had been dropped. Rythian had a feeling she'd done far worse, but she'd never been caught.

At least not yet.

The blond man walking with her held a shopping bag on one arm and was using a newspaper to protect his ice cream cone from the rain. Lalna Jones, ex-con with a list of crimes as long as he was tall. And he was quite tall. Rythian picked up the binoculars from his passenger’s seat and focused on the shopping bag. The logo was Vespucci Movie Masks. An odd purchase for a rainy day, especially since they’d only spent ten minutes at the pier. Clearly they’d come here for the masks.

Zoey: _come have a drink with me and fi_

Rythian: _busy_

He watched the two get into Lalna's car, but didn’t turn on his own car until they were leaving the lot. He tailed them at a distance of about a block, letting some cars in between them. They’d already stopped at a clothing store, where they’d emerged carrying a bag, and then in an Ammu Nation. This had to be their last stop, since their apartment was very close by here, in Little Seoul.

It wasn’t that Rythian had been stalking them, really. He hadn’t even directly interacted with any of them in years, not since the incident. He just kept track of their known addresses, and whenever he found out one of them had moved, he dutifully updated his information, certain that it would come in handy some day. “Jones, Lalna” and ”Sykes, Sjin” were in a file on his computer, tucked in among the rest of his notes. “Richards, Kim” had come along later, after the incident, but since she was connected to Lalna, she got added to the file too.

He knew their finances, knew how Lalna and Nano had barely a hundred dollars between the two of them, but every so often they'd get an influx of cash despite no jobs. How Lalna was even able to keep up with the insurance and lease payments on his expensive car was a mystery. He knew that Nano went regularly to the Ammu Nation shooting range, and had poured nearly ten thousand dollars into getting a piloting license, yet the two of them had been evicted from their last apartment for getting behind on rent.

His phone buzzed but he ignored it. A trip to the boardwalk on a rainy day to buy a mask? That was interesting. That would go in Rythian’s file, along with other bits of evidence he’d gathered in the hopes of linking them to crimes. Eventually he’d find something that stuck.

At the next red light, he glanced at his phone. Zoey had sent him a string of texts, each one getting more annoyed at his lack of response. It was her own fault for moving out, he thought spitefully. She couldn’t expect to dictate his extracurricular activities if she didn’t even live with him.

It wasn’t fair to think that, but he stubbornly held on to the anger. She thought she had his best interests at heart, but she didn’t understand why he needed to do this. Just because she’d forgiven Sjin and Lalna for what they’d done didn’t mean he could.

It had been more than five years. His scars had healed, but they’d never go away, not even with extensive plastic surgery and reconstruction. Zoey had scars too, all up her arm. She’d nearly lost the whole arm, and now, to cover the scars, she’d gotten the whole thing tattooed in a sort of cyborg design, with wires and rivets running from her wrist to her shoulder. As for Rythian, he couldn’t do much to cover his own scars. He couldn’t really wear a scarf in this Los Santos heat, and it was hard to hide the lower half of your face without looking suspicious, especially when you were a cop. It was fine though. Every day he looked into the mirror to shave, they reminded him of what had happened, and what still had to be done about it.

Lalna’s car pulled into an open spot in front of his apartment building, which was a sad looking building with security grates over all the first floor windows. Rythian drove two blocks past the apartment, then parallel parked and adjusted his rearview mirror until he could see Lalna and Nano heading into the building. He picked up his sandwich again. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

### Trott

The sun came out mid-morning after two days of rain. The gutters were still flooded, and the dry heat of Los Santos turned humid as the rain steamed away.

Trott sat cross-legged on the hood of his chosen car, his mask crumpled in his lap. Smiffy had had the task of getting the three of them masks for the job, and he’d gotten something stupid as usual. Trott could barely see out of the beady little walrus eyes of his mask, and the tusks poked him in the chest whenever he looked down. _Great_ for driving. His only consolation was that the other two had equally terrible masks.

Ross was already in his car, playing with the radio. Smiffy had reclined his driver’s seat all the way back and was napping, his sunglasses hiding his eyes.

The money from this heist was going to help so much. Their TV show, Stunt Lads, wasn’t pulling in as much ad revenue as they’d hoped, and the insurance costs were going through the roof. Maybe that wasn’t the best reason for a life of crime, but it worked for Trott.

An old pickup truck pulled into the lot and parked, and Sips and Sjin got out. Sips was holding a cup of coffee and was yawning, scratching under his t-shirt. Sjin had tied his red hair into a ponytail and had a pair of aviator goggles strapped to his head. Trott had only met them at the warehouse meeting. Once Sjin heard their names, he had gushed about how much he loved Stunt Lads. Sips had as well, until he started describing his favorite episode and Trott realized that he was talking about the Golden Girls. It was very hard to tell how much of that was a joke.

“Morning,” Sjin said cheerfully, hauling a cardboard box out of the back of the truck.

“Morning,” Trott greeted him. It was a little after two pm. “What’s in the box?”

“This, my friend, is the finest fer’ilizer money can buy,” Sjin said, faking a West Country accent. “Ammonium nitrate! Used by farms and meth labs everywhere. Highly explosive, a’course.”

Smiffy sat up in his seat, tipping up his sunglasses. “That’s going in your car, mate,” he said to Trott.

“Rock paper scissors?” suggested Trott.

“Nope,” Smiffy said, dropping his sunglasses back down on his nose.

“Don’t worry, it won’t go off until it’s nice and ready. I’m good at that.” Sjin grinned and winked at Trott, who wondered whether Smiffy now had competition in the innuendo Olympics.

The last car pulled in, a lovingly waxed Pegassi Vacca, bright orange. Nano and Lalna got out. Nano wore a black shirt and cargo shorts today and had double shoulder holsters like a badass. Lalna was in pastel colored Bermuda shorts and flip flops. His shoulder holster was just visible under the short sleeved Hawaiian shirt he wore unbuttoned over a bullet proof vest and pale pink shirt.

“Throw a tarp over that,” Trott said testily. “You can see that from a mile away.”

“There’s no one around,” Lalna said, but he obligingly pulled the car up to the warehouse, under the overhang of the roof, and took a black car cover from the boot.

“Which car are we in?” Nano asked, shouldering a black duffle bag.

“I’ll take you,” Smiffy said, adjusting his seat back upright. “Ross can get the goods.”

“Fine.” Nano stalked over to Smiffy’s car and tossed the bag into the backseat. “I call shotgun.”

“You don’t need all that leg room,” Lalna protested, following her to the car.

“Welp.” She shrugged, opening the passenger’s side door.

Smiffy rolled his eyes. “On second thought, Ross, you can have the fuck buddies.”

Ross waved at Smiffy in vague acknowledgement, still fiddling with the radio.

“Hey now,” Nano said. “Get your mind out of the gutter. He’s my roommate slash partner in crime.”

“Slash fuck buddy,” Smiffy said.

“I don’t want to travel in your stupid car anyway.” Nano grabbed the duffle bag out of the car again. “Ross? Which one of you is Ross?”

“You mean you don’t watch the show?” Trott said.

“What show?” Nano stared at him for a moment. “Ohh, I thought you sounded familiar. It’s one of those shows where you hit each other with cars while wearing gimp suits, right?”

“No, it’s…” Trott trailed off. “Okay, yeah, basically.”

Trott’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and judging by everyone else’s reaction, they’d gotten texts as well. He pulled out his phone and glanced at it. The number was private, but the message said _Target left LSI at 13:10 heading N on La Puerta._

“So are we ready?” Sjin climbed into the front seat of Trott’s car. “Last one to the crime scene gets to suck my dick.”

“Well that’s me gone.” Smiffy revved his engine. “See ya.” Slamming his car door shut, he reversed in a wide swing, then roared out of the lot. Nano slung the duffle into Ross’s car.

Trott hopped into the driver’s seat of his car while Sips lazily clambered into the back, slurping at his coffee. “Ready to go?”

“I don’t mind if you drive slow,” said Sjin with a wink, sliding into his seat.

Trott started the car. “I’ll keep to the speed limit just for you, sunshine,” he said, and followed Ross out of the lot.  


  


* * *

  


### Nano

Nano checked each of her guns methodically as Ross maneuvered through the mid-afternoon traffic in downtown Los Santos. The glare off the drying streets was giving her a headache.

“You should have brought sunglasses,” Lalna said when she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Shut up,” she said. “Give me yours.”

“No.” He jiggled the back of her seat with his knees. “Move your seat forward.”

“Children,” said Ross. “Enough.”

“Which are we, children or fuck buddies? Certainly not both.” Nano holstered her gun and reclined her seat slightly. Lalna thumped the back of the seat and she cackled.

“Are you sure you can do this job?” Ross asked dubiously. “I mean, have you done this kind of thing before?”

“Are you wearing a wire?” Nano replied.

Ross snorted. “I was just curious.”

“We know what we’re doing,” said Lalna, his voice suddenly serious. “Don’t worry.”

Ross glanced in the rearview mirror at him, then shrugged. “Okay.” He shot a glance at Nano. “We’ll be there in five.”

“I’m ready,” she said.

“If I get a leg cramp while we’re doing this, it’s your fault,” Lalna grumbled.

“Yeah well if I get a migraine, I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”

They entered the on ramp for Del Perro Freeway, heading west toward Vespucci and Del Perro Beaches. Assuming everything had gone according to plan, the shipment had arrived at Los Santos International this morning and would be transported along the coast from there. They had to hit the convoy before it reached the tunnel just before Fort Zancudo, since the closer they got to the military base, the faster the armed military response would arrive. Ideally, they’d hit the convoy just past Vespucci beach, where they still had time to peel off down a side street and lose their pursuit in the winding streets of Vinewood Hills. After that, side roads were few and far between.

“Convoy spotted,” came Smiffy’s voice over the radio. “They just got on Del Perro from La Puerta.”

Ross accelerated. Smiffy was far enough ahead of them that they couldn’t see him, but they were only two miles from where La Puerta joined Del Perro.

“There goes the other car,” said Lalna. Trott’s car blasted past them on the left. Sjin stuck his arm out the window, flipping them off.

“I am _not_ sucking his dick,” Ross announced, accelerating further.  


  


* * *

  


### Smiffy

Smiffy pulled ahead of the convoy, studying it surreptitiously as he passed. It was made up of three vehicles—the lead escort car in the front, a low armored vehicle with four soldiers in it; the middle car where the payload was kept, again armored to the hilt; and the trailing escort vehicle, same as the first one. As far as he could tell, the middle car only had two soldiers in the front seat, but was likely to have more in the back with the shipment itself.

The good news was that there was no heavy artillery, as far as he could see. Neither of the escort vehicles had mounted guns on them. He didn’t know what kind of firepower Lalna and Nano were packing, but given the size of their duffle bag, they had some serious weaponry. That, combined with Sips and Sjin’s explosives, meant that the seven of them matched up fairly decently with the ten or so soldiers.

As long as everything went as planned.

Smiffy pulled a few car lengths ahead of the convoy and looked in his rearview mirror. He could just see Trott’s car coming into view, a few lengths back. Ross was close behind.

They were approaching Del Perro Beach. The ocean was straight ahead, glittering in the sun, and Smiffy could see the ferris wheel on the pier. Everyone needed to be in place by the time they reached the beach and started north on the Great Ocean Highway, or else they ran the risk of going too far past the easy escape routes.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror again.

“Come on, guys,” he said out loud.

An explosion split the air, so powerful that Smiffy felt his car rock. He hit the brakes instinctively, fishtailing. Black smoke billowed behind him and the middle truck veered sharply right, then tipped onto its side and slid down the highway, throwing sparks off the pavement. The first escort vehicle spun its wheel and drifted into a full 180 turn, tires smoking. The second escort slammed on its brakes.

Smiffy threw his car into reverse as a second explosion took over the second escort vehicle. Trott’s car was stopped in the middle of the billowing smoke. Ross’s car was out of sight. Behind them, it looked like traffic had come to a stop, and traffic on the other side of the road was snarling up as panicked bystanders decided that they desperately wanted to be elsewhere. The first escort vehicle’s windshield shattered under gunfire and the driver slumped over the wheel. The three remaining soldiers abandoned the car, jumping over the jersey barrier that divided the highway and using it for cover.

Smiffy came to a stop thirty feet ahead of the mess. His mask was on the passenger’s seat, and he pulled it on over his head. It was some amorphous green slime creature with big blue eyes but no mouth. At least the eyes made it easy to see through. He rested an arm on the seat back, his other arm on the steering wheel, and peered through the back window of his car, studying the smoke.

Gunfire rattled. A curtain of smoke parted and he saw Nano—or at least, someone about five feet tall and wearing a wolf mask—leap up onto the cabin of the downed middle truck, then aim a semi-automatic into the window. She opened fire and the smoke obscured her again.

“ _Payload located_ ,” came Lalna’s voice on the radio.

“Get it and let’s go, you fuckers,” Smiffy replied.

“ _Calm your tits_ ,” Sjin said. “ _We have to—_ ”

More gunfire opened up, this time coming from the opposite lane of traffic. Smiffy turned and saw that two more military vehicles had squeezed through the crowd, and six more soldiers had spilled out, guns drawn. A helicopter came into view over the skyline, heading straight for them.

_Fuck_ , Smiffy thought.  


  


* * *

  


### Lalna

Lalna threw the bolt cutters down onto the pavement and yanked the back doors of the truck open, keeping to the side in case someone was alive in there. A soldier flopped out, unconscious. He aimed his gun in the doorway without looking and opened fire, then leaned in. A dead soldier was slumped against the back wall of the truck. In the middle sat a big wooden crate, about a meter cubed. It was held to the floor of the truck—now the wall—with heavy nylon straps, which were now straining with the effort of fighting gravity.

“Payload located,” he said into the radio, hauling the unconscious soldier out of his way and crawling into the back.

Overhead, footsteps pounded down the side of the truck, which was now the ceiling. Lalna lifted his gun but Nano called out “It’s me” before dropping down off the roof into the doorway. She crawled into the back with him, tugging off her wolf mask to see better.

“This is it?” she said. Lalna shrugged at her.

“ _Get it and let’s go, you fuckers,_ ” Smiffy said over the radio.

Nano pulled a knife from her belt and started to saw into one of the straps holding the crate down. “How heavy do you think this thing is?”

“Crawl under it and catch it when it falls,” Lalna said.

“ _Calm your tits,_ ” Sjin said over the radio. “ _We have to—_ ”

Bullets slammed into the side of the truck, leaving dents in the metal. Nano gave a little shriek and ducked. Lalna clamped his hands over his ears.

“ _—Six or seven soldiers and a helicopter—_ ” Smiffy was shouting into the radio before more gunfire drowned him out.

“Did you bring the rocket launcher?” Nano said.

“You packed the bag,” Lalna replied.

“Oh my _God_ , you’re so useless.”

“You specifically told me you’d take care of packing the weapons!” Lalna crept to the door of the truck, which was hanging on its hinges. A spray of bullets caught it, rattling it loudly, and he flinched back. The doorway seemed to be aimed in the general direction of the gunmen, which meant there was no way they could make a run for it, especially not with the payload.

“Yeah, whatever. Sjin, make a distraction,” Nano said into the radio.

“ _Working on it._ ”

“Smiffy, bring the car around.”

“ _Fuck off. I’m not bulletproof._ ”

“Then what good are you?” Nano scowled at the radio.

“ _Incoming_ ,” came Sips’s voice, and then something hit the side of the truck hard enough to throw them both into the wall. Lalna’s head slammed the metal so hard that his vision whited out for a minute, and the truck made a grinding sound underneath them. The nylon straps holding the crate snapped and the whole crate crashed to the floor, shattering into wooden splinters. Eight long low pressure gas tanks packed in sawdust spilled out.

“What the hell—” Nano gasped out somewhere on the other side of Lalna.

The truck came to a stop, settling. Lalna sat up, holding his head. Blood was running down his jaw, gathering on the inside of the mask.

“I think the truck moved,” he said.

“Well of course it—”

“No, look.”

The opening was no longer facing the opposite side of the highway. Instead, they could see a guardrail, and then Sips’s sneakers as he stopped outside the doors and lifted the top one open. He leaned in, squinting at them through his female orc mask.

“Was that great or what?” he said, hooting with laughter. “Come on, Trott’s car is right here.

“I think I broke some ribs,” Nano groaned, clutching at her chest. She reached down and grabbed the head of one of the tanks. “Damn, these are heavy.”

Lalna got to his feet, staggered, and fell down again. “I’m going to be sick,” he said, peeling his mask up and gasping for air.

“Do not,” Nano said, dropping the tank and lunging for him. “Do not leave evidence all over this truck.”

Lalna clamped both hands over his mouth, willing the nausea to fade.

Sips grabbed one of the tanks and hauled it up onto his shoulder. “Come on, it was only a love tap,” he said, carrying the tank out of the truck. Trott appeared in the opening.

“Sorry about that, mate,” he said. “But we did save your lives.” He grabbed a tank as well.

There was a massive explosion outside and the truck rocked slightly. Nano eyed him to make sure he wasn’t going to be sick, then grabbed a tank and dragged it toward the opening, pulling her own mask back on. “I hope that was Sjin,” she said.

Lalna lowered his hands and got up, more slowly this time, pulling his mask back down. He managed to keep his balance, so he took one of the tanks and carried it out of the truck.

The smoke had thinned enough that he could see Trott’s car jammed up against the side of the truck, the hood a little crumpled. Sips was at the car, piling tanks inside. The boot was full with only one tank in it. Sjin, in a Burger King mask, stood on the roof of the car with a rocket launcher on his shoulder. The truck acted as a shield between them and the other side of the freeway. The helicopter was keeping its distance, out of the range of Sjin’s rockets.

“See, Sjin remembered a rocket launcher,” Nano said to Lalna.

“If you love him so much, why don’t you marry him?” Lalna crammed his tank in the back seat on top of the two others, then went back for another one.

“I’m taken,” said Sjin before he let off another rocket.

There was an exchange of gunfire happening up ahead. Probably Smiffy and the soldiers. Sips was carrying another tank out of the truck, leaving three. Lalna grabbed another one.

“Car’s full. Put it in Ross’s,” Trott said when Lalna carried it back out. “He’s back behind the other escort vehicle.”

“Maybe if Smiffy were here…” Nano said, another tank on her shoulder.

“There are only two more soldiers there,” Sjin said, slotting another RPG into the launcher. “I’ve taken out both their vehicles. Once Smiffy gets the soldiers, he can bring the car back.”

Lalna started for Ross’s car, which was parked close enough to the flaming escort vehicle that the paint was starting to peel. Ross, in a werewolf mask similar to Lalna and Nano’s, was taking potshots at the helicopter with a sniper rifle, though so far he hadn’t done much damage.

“Delivery,” Nano called to him, right behind Lalna. “Don’t let the car catch fire before we—”

A bullet punched into the tank on Lalna’s shoulder, which launched itself out of his grip like a rocket, instantly breaking his fingers. The tank slammed into the cement barrier that lined the edge of the highway, then started spinning in wild circles, spewing purple gas at high velocity. In an instant, the two of them were enveloped in a purple curtain of smoke.

Nano’s tank clanged to the ground as she scrambled away. Lalna, clutching his broken hand to his chest, ran after her, although with all the smoke, he couldn’t tell which way she’d gone. 

Ross was shouting something, but it was hard to hear over the roar of the tank. Flames reared up out of the smoke, and Lalna realized he’d gotten too close to the escort vehicle. He changed direction.

It was impossible to breathe under the mask. He ripped it off, his hair underneath plastered to his skull with sweat and blood. The purple gas tasted like bleach and he gagged, burying his mouth in the crook of his arm. His eyes were streaming.

He tripped over something soft and crashed to the ground. It was Nano, on her hands and knees, coughing wretchedly. He uncovered his mouth and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, hauling her up. She clutched at him and the two of them staggered forward, away from the canister.

Ross’s car engine roared and then the car came barreling through the smoke past them, whipping the smoke away in spinning cyclones of displaced air and revealing Trott’s car in front of them. Ross slammed on the brakes.

“Get in!” he shouted out the window.

“We don’t have all the tanks,” Sjin called back.

“Fuck the tanks,” Ross replied. “We have enough.” Nano fell against the car and pulled open the back door, crawling in. Lalna climbed in after her and pulled the door shut. It was incredibly hot in the car, residual heat from the fire it had been parked next to.

“Go,” Lalna said between coughs. Ross reversed, then swung around the truck, leaving Trott’s car behind. He swerved to avoid Smiffy’s car, which had just arrived on the other side of the truck.

Everything went kind of fuzzy after that. Lalna couldn’t stop coughing, and Nano, slumped against him, couldn’t either. It felt like his lungs were full of acid. Something weird was happening to his hearing, maybe because of the tank getting hit right next to his ear. Could he even hear out that ear? He couldn’t tell.

There was fuzzy radio chatter that Lalna couldn’t quite make out. Ross was talking, but that was coming in patches as well. Someone else was talking, a woman—Nano? At first it sounded like her, but then he realized she was replying to the voice. Was there someone else in the car with them? No, that was impossible…right?

His face was numb, like he was still wearing the mask. He pawed at his rubbery skin with his good hand, scratching until his fingers came back with blood under the nails.

Sirens wailed somewhere behind them. Police had caught sight of them.

His broken fingers pulsed with pain. The pain in his head was matching it. Something cold was running down his arms, like ice pressing up on the underside of his skin.

“—breathed in a lot of—” Ross said, momentarily clear. It sounded like he was talking on the radio. The car swung around a turn, and the words echoed in Lalna’s head. “—have to hide the tanks—”

“I can’t breathe in this heat,” Nano gasped to Lalna. The air in the car was stifling, and all of a sudden Lalna, too, wanted nothing more than a great big lungful of cold air. He reached out, clawing for the controls to the window. His hand found the door handle instead, and for a moment he hesitated. Then he pulled on the handle.

“What the _fuck_ are you—” Ross said, hitting the brakes. The car skidded. Nano crawled over Lalna, dragging herself to the open door. He wrapped his arm around her and fell out of the car.


	3. Chapter 3

### Rythian

The call came in while Rythian and Zoey were on their lunch break. They were at a Taco Bomb in Little Seoul, sitting in one of the booths. Zoey had dismantled her vegetarian burrito and was eating the innards with a fork. Rythian was stirring the ice in his soda.

“I’m just saying, I think you should get a Bleeter account,” Zoey said. “Or at least a LifeInvader. _Everyone’s_ got a LifeInvader.”

“I’m not interested, Zoey.” Rythian took a gulp of soda. “No one wants to know what I’m eating or what TV shows I’m watching.”

“But maybe they _do_ ,” Zoey insisted. “Have you ever thought of that?”

The table shook underneath them, and the windows rattled in their frames. They both looked up and out to the busy street. Nothing seemed amiss. A few other restaurant patrons glanced up, then continued their conversations.

“No, no, no,” Zoey said. “Not before I finish my burrito.” She started shoveling it into her mouth.

“Maybe it’s just construction,” Rythian said dubiously, frowning out the window.

Zoey made a noise through a mouthful of green peppers. Rythian started crumpling up his trash.

“All units, I repeat, all units to the Del Perro Freeway Westbound. Armed robbery in progress,” crackled the radio on his hip. “All units.”

Rythian took Zoey’s trash and his own and got to his feet, heading for the trash bin. Zoey grabbed his soda and slurped at it, then shoved the last forkful of burrito in her mouth. She got to her feet as well.

Another explosion shook the building, louder this time. Zoey raised her eyebrows at Rythian. He pushed the door open, holding it for her.

Their patrol car was parked on the curb just outside. Zoey jogged around to the driver’s side and Rythian got in the passenger’s. The radio in the car was busy with chatter when they got in.

“Seven or eight armed gunmen,” someone was reporting. “At least one rocket launcher.”

“Another day in Los Santos,” said Zoey, starting the car and pulling away from the curb.

They were only ten minutes from the scene, but by the time they got there, it was all over. Smoke still gulped into the air from five downed vehicles. Traffic was being diverted off the exit ramps, into the city.

Fourteen bodies were strewn over the pavement in a grisly tableau. Ambulances and fire trucks were still on their way. Zoey parked the patrol car next to an officer who was unreeling crime scene tape. She and Rythian got out.

“Major Crimes,” said Zoey, showing her badge to the officer. “Who’s in charge here?”

“FIB, when they get here,” said the officer. “But Sergeant Rutherford is over there.” He pointed.

Sgt. Rutherford, an officer with blond hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail, was standing with two other officers next to the smoking hulk of a truck. She glanced at them when they stopped next to her.

“Detectives,” she said in greeting.

“What happened here?” Rythian asked. “What were they transporting?”

“It was a military shipment of some sort of special tear gas or something,” the sergeant said. “The armed robbers got away with six of the eight tanks.” She pointed to the remains of a tank on the pavement thirty feet from them. A faint, dissipating purple mist was all that was left of its contents. “A stray bullet hit that one, and they abandoned the last one near it.”

“Were all the casualties on our side?” Zoey asked.

Sgt. Rutherford nodded grimly. “Only two survivors,” she said. “We didn’t get any of them.”

“Do we know who was behind it?”

“Not yet. Once the FIB get here, they might tell us something.” She rolled her eyes. “Probably not, though.”

“May we look around?”

She waved a hand. “Go ahead.”

Rythian paced over to the truck, which was on its side. The chassis was twisted from the force of some sort of explosion, and one of the back tires was just gone. Scorch marks on the undercarriage showed where the bomb had hit.

“Some sort of grenade?” said Zoey, squatting down. “It rolled under the truck as it was driving and exploded.”

“The others vehicles were destroyed. They wanted to keep this intact,” said Rythian. “What would anyone want with tear gas?”

They moved over to one of the other vehicles. It was just a carbonized frame now, nothing left of its interior. There were signs of explosion where the gas tank had been, but also at the hood of the car. A grenade would have just bounced off the hood unless the attackers had exceptional timing, so this bomb must have exploded on contact. A sticky bomb, perhaps.

Zoey toed the destroyed gas tank. A label on the side read PHLX-2.

“Wait, isn’t that the drug?” She looked up at Rythian. “Flux, or taint or whatever it’s called?”

“That explains why they wanted it,” Rythian said. “One of these tanks must have enough doses for a few thousand users, and they got six of them. They’d make millions on the street.”

“Surely there are easier ways,” Zoey said.

Rythian stroked his scarred chin, staring at the burned out vehicle. Sticky bombs were made with C4, which smelled very strongly. He couldn’t smell it here, although the bleach smell of the gas was overpowering everything else.

On a whim, he headed down the pavement to the other exploded vehicle. Without the distraction of the PHLX, he could confirm that he didn’t smell C4. Just burnt plastic and flesh. Odd, but he couldn’t really prove anything based on the absence of smell. The bomb was probably home made.

Zoey joined him. “If you want, I can take a picture of you brooding over an exploded car for your LiveInvader profile picture,” she said.

“I’m not brooding,” he replied automatically. “Zoey, if you were going to hire a bunch of people for a heist, who would you hire to take care of demolitions?”

She stared at him. “This is Los Santos. I could probably toss a dart at a phone book and find someone.”

“Based on reputation,” he said.

“Who would I hire?” She gave a pointed look at his jaw and the scars there. “Well, if I totally didn’t have any kind of confirmation bias, I think the objectively best option are the guys who once blew me up and shot me in the face, since I like to see them as the cause of every crime I have to solve.”

He scowled at her. She glared back.

“It’s not Sjin,” she said to him. “I don’t care if he once was arrested for working with explosives. He’s not the only one in this city.”

“Sjin prefers ANFO bombs,” Rythian said. “Ammonium nitrate is odorless, and I don’t smell any C4 here—”

“Oh, well in that case, let’s go arrest him.” Zoey rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell that theory to anyone else, okay? Let’s wait for forensics to find some evidence to process.”

“We won’t hear the results because FIB is going to take over this case,” Rythian said.

“Great!” Zoey turned away from him. “Then we don’t have to worry about it at all.”  
  


* * *

  


### Sjin

“This is bad.” Sjin sat down on the cement and pulled off his mask. “This is so bad. You just let them jump out of your car?”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” Ross said. “The police were chasing us. I couldn’t stop to go find them.”

“For all we know, they got away,” said Trott. They were at the rendezvous point, a scrapyard full of smashed up cars. Ross, Smiffy and Trott had parked their cars around the yard, and frankly it was hard to distinguish them from the rest of the junk heaps already there. The tanks would be fine staying here until things cooled down.

“We can’t work on that assumption,” Smiffy said. “They know our names. If they’re caught, they could turn the rest of us in for immunity.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Sjin protested.

“Really?” Smiffy raised his eyebrows at Sjin. “You bet your life on that?”

“Well…” Sjin looked away.

“We can’t panic yet,” said Trott. “Let’s just lay low for a few days and see if they turn up. If they do, we’re golden.”

“They were really out of it,” Ross said. “Like really out of it. Nano was talking to someone, and they both were acting like they were, I don’t know, having the worst trip of their lives.”

“Talking to someone?” Smiffy repeated.

“Her mum, I think?”

“Great!” said Sips. “She’ll tell them her mom did it and we’re all set.”

“Okay.” Trott clapped his hands and straightened up. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll contact Xephos and tell him where to get the tanks, and then I’m going on holiday somewhere nice. Sjin, tell us if you hear from them.”

“Will do.” Sjin frowned unhappily.

“I’m taking Lalna’s Vacca,” Smiffy said. “We don’t want to lead police right to the warehouse where we met up, am I right?”

“Hey!” said Sjin. “I’m his friend. If anyone should have it, I should.”

“I called dibs. He can have it back if he doesn’t turn us all in.” Smiffy slung an arm around Trott’s shoulder. “See ya.”  
  


* * *

  


### Nano

_Hide_ , whispered Mother.

Nano’s teeth were buzzing and there was a sharp, stabbing ache in her chest whenever she tried to take a breath. The underbelly of the freeway overhead was a blur of peeling rust and graffiti, and the shadows were purple.

Nearby, something scraped on cement. She opened her eyes—weren’t they already open?—and saw a homeless man walking down the gutter nearby, a big trash bag over his shoulder. He didn’t look her way.

_Where?_ Nano’s head was pressing into the ground. She rolled onto her back, then stopped at the incredible pain in her chest. Ribs? Had she done something to her ribs? She couldn’t remember.

The sky was a deep, clear blue overhead, the way it got in the summer when it was going to be dry for a long time. Nano opened her eyes. Again? She rolled onto her side, then, very carefully, onto her hands and knees. She had to move like she was holding a bomb. If she went too fast, she’d trigger the pain.

_Hide where?_ She lifted her head, scenting the breeze. It smelled like trash down here, along with the distinctive smell of human urine. Her arm was scraped all to hell and her clothes were filthy. What had happened? Where was she? Had there been a—her mind went fuzzy for a bit—an accident? Something must have gone wrong at some point for her to end up down here.

_Rendezvous point_ , she thought. There had been a rendezvous point. Who was she supposed to meet? And why?

Nano got to her feet, carefully, very carefully. She was alone, apart from that homeless man, who was steadily heading away from her. It looked like she’d been climbing this incline, heading up to the street under the bridge, when she’d settled down for a nap. The street under the bridge led to the scrapyard.

The scrapyard. That was the rendezvous point. They were supposed to meet there. She and… and…

It was like waking up the morning after getting very drunk. She knew she’d done things while she was out of it, but she couldn’t remember what. Had she been on her way to the rendezvous point? On her way from it?

The only thing to do was to head back and see if whoever she was meant to meet was still there. Nano opened her eyes, then rubbed at them blearily. Her head ached. Her chest ached. Her lungs ached.

There had been something purple. She remembered, suddenly, a darkness, broken here and there with tiny purple lights, like eyes. She remembered vines, or tentacles, trying to hold her down. She remembered a voice.

_Hide_. Where was Lalna? He was the one who went on benders, not her. She didn’t even drink anymore, not for years. Nano reached the top of the incline, then started down the street. The gates of the scrapyard were just up ahead, waiting for her.

Something grabbed at her ankle and she jumped with a shriek, then clutched at her chest. There was nothing on the ground. Nothing had touched her. Just her imagination.

Nano reached the gates of the scrapyard, which were open, though there was no one in the office that she could see. “Hello?” she called, but there was no answer. She kept walking until she found a spot where she thought she should be waiting. She sat down on the ground.

“Nano?”

She opened her eyes. Lalna was coming through the gates, moving just as painfully as she had been. His face was a mass of bruises and bloody scratches, and the hand that she could see looked like a mess. She wondered whether she looked as bad as he did. Her whole right side felt like one massive bruise.

“What happened?” Nano asked.

“I…” Lalna neared her, then stopped. “I was hoping you knew,” he said with a weak grin. His teeth were bloody.

“Were we supposed to meet someone here?”

He looked around. “Maybe…” he said distantly.

“Let’s go home.” Nano hugged herself. “I want a shower.”

“I don’t have money for a cab.” Lalna rooted around in his pockets with one hand, the other one suspended awkwardly in the air as if he was trying not to touch anything with it. She saw his fingers and winced.

“What happened to us?”

“Car accident? I don’t know where my car is,” he suggested, sounding just as confused as she was.

“Why are we here?” A thought struck her. “Where did you wake up?”

“Uh.” He looked over his shoulder toward the scrapyard gates. “Down by the freeway entrance.”

The opposite direction from her. That didn’t sound like a car accident. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I remember…” He trailed off for a moment. “I remember that I was trying to get somewhere.”

“Did you get there?” _Hide._

He laughed helplessly. “I don’t know.”

Nano rose to her feet. “Call Sjin. Get us a ride home.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and fumbled with it left handed for a bit until she took it from him and found Sjin’s number. She dialed. There was no answer. She called Sips next, but his phone was off.

“We could walk,” Nano said dubiously. “You need medical attention, though.” She touched her side gingerly, wincing. “So do I.”

“I don’t think we can go to a hospital,” Lalna said. “Not until we know what happened.”

She tucked his phone in her pocket. “I don’t say this very often, but you’re right,” she said.

Chills were starting to run up her spine, and her head felt a little spinny. That wasn’t a good sign. Maybe she was starting to get a hangover or something. Something touched the back of her leg and she jumped, swatting at it, but again, it was nothing.

“Let’s walk until Sjin starts answering his phone,” said Lalna. Nano reached up and wiped some blood off his cheek.

“You look suspicious,” she said.

He rubbed at his face with one hand, smearing the blood. “Yeah, well you’re wearing two holsters.”

She helped him wipe off the worst of it, though she couldn’t do anything about the blood that had soaked into his shirt. “This is why criminals don’t wear pastels,” she said.

They started walking out of the scrapyard and then down the street. The freeway was overhead, blocking the bright sun from hitting them. They were miles from home. There was no way they’d make it there in less than three hours, and if Nano’s head got worse, they wouldn’t make it there at all.

“I think I have a concussion,” Lalna mumbled as they walked. “My head is…weird.”

“How is that different from normal?” Nano said, but gentler than usual. Lalna was getting pale. He swatted at something on his neck, though she couldn’t see anything there.

“I don’t think I’ll make it,” he said. She grabbed his arm, just a gentle grip, though she wasn’t sure if it was meant to comfort him or just keep him from getting ahead of her.

The chills were spreading from her spine to her extremities. Little bits of her kept disappearing, like her fingers or her legs. They’d just flicker out of her proprioception, convincing her brain they’d ceased to exist entirely, before coming back with an uncomfortable buzzing feeling.

“Dunno if I will either,” she said. Something sour rose at the back of her throat.

“What happened to us?” Lalna said.

Nano looked up at him and then suddenly time skipped forward, and she was standing by the river, and Lalna was sitting down on the ground, his head between his knees, a puddle of vomit next to him.

“What?” Nano said out loud.

He raised his head blearily. “What what?”

“Did we just—” Nano cut herself off and rubbed at her face. “Where are we?”

“Closer than we were,” he said unhelpfully, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head, then looked like he regretted it. He tucked his head between his knees again.

Nano dug into her pocket and found Lalna’s phone again. She dialed Sjin’s number. It rang three times and then Sjin’s voice said “Where the fuck have you been, Lal?”

More quietly, somewhere on Sjin’s end, an unfamiliar male voice said “Are you talking to Lalna?”

“It’s me,” said Nano. “Can you come get us?”

“Where are you?”

She turned around in a circle, looking for a clue. “South Los Santos, I think?”

“More specific.”

“By the river. Under the freeway.”

“Which river, and which freeway?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “We were near the scrapyard a…a while ago. We started walking towards home but I don’t know where we are now.”

Sjin heaved a sigh. “Look, I’ve got… I’m meeting with someone right now. I’ll pick you up in a bit. Text me if you figure out where you are.”

Nano hung up and shoved the phone in her pocket. “Are you able to walk any more?”

“No,” Lalna said, his voice muffled by his knees.

“I’m going to walk a bit to figure out where we are,” Nano said. “I’ll be right back. If I don’t come back… come and get me, okay?”

He made a noncommittal noise. She turned away from him, started walking up the river bank, and time skipped again.


	4. Chapter 4

### Rythian

Rythian’s shift ended around five in the afternoon. He changed in the locker room into his civvies, a black collared shirt and dark blue jeans.

“Got any plans for the evening?” Zoey asked, putting on deodorant. Her idea of civvies was a rainbow tie-dyed t-shirt and bright blue shorts. “Fiona and I are going out for drinks if you’re interested.”

“I… thanks, but I’ve got a thing.” He forced a smile.

She paused, studying him for a moment. “A thing?” she said. “Not a stalking thing, right?”

“No, no, of course not,” he lied. “I just have to do laundry and…chores.”

“Right, a laundry thing,” Zoey drawled, sounding unconvinced. “That’s more interesting than going out for drinks. I totally understand why you’re standing me up.”

“I have nothing left to wear,” he insisted. Plus he hated hanging out with the two of them, feeling like a third wheel, especially when he used to be convinced he was in love with Zoey. He couldn’t really say that out loud, though.

“All your clothes are black. It doesn’t matter if they’re washed or not.”

“It does matter,” he said. “Anyway it’s not just laundry. I just haven’t been home much and I need a night to myself, okay?”

She stared at him for a moment more, weighing his excuse, then smiled sympathetically and nodded. “Yeah, fine,” she said. “But you’re hanging out with us next week. No excuses.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

Zoey’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it, then gave him a hasty wave. “My ride’s here,” she said, grabbing her bag. “See you tomorrow.”

“Night,” he said, watching her go.

He took a while longer getting ready, giving them enough time to leave before he headed out to his car. In the lot, he turned on the AC and opened all the windows and sat there, waiting for the oven-like temperature to dissipate.

Sjin lived in Vespucci, down close to the ocean and pretty close to Little Seoul. In late afternoon traffic it would take him more than an hour to get there, which would give him plenty of time to talk himself out of going.

He headed out of the lot and started toward Vespucci, running through a checklist in his head. He just wanted to see if Sjin was home, and if there was any obvious evidence outside his house. If his vehicle was parked on the street, Rythian could look in the windows for evidence, though he couldn’t open it. If he found something, he could phone in a tip and have an on-duty cop come by to do the actual legwork. If he didn’t see anything, he’d head on home. No harm, no foul.

It took him an hour and a half to get onto Sjin’s street. He had been on this street a number of times before—all on perfectly reasonable jaunts across town to buy food from the 24/7 next to Sjin’s house instead of at either one of the 24/7s in Rockford Hills, where he lived. Lalna’s apartment, a few blocks away, was coincidentally right next door to the gym where Rythian had a membership. Small world.

He parked on the curb a block from Sjin’s house and got out, locking his car. He might as well pick up some laundry detergent at the 24/7 while he was in the neighborhood. It would give him a good excuse to be here, anyway.

The usual truck was parked on the street in front of the building where Sjin lived. Rythian had run its plates before and found that it was registered to a Sips Lovasz, same address as Sjin. His roommate, apparently. Sjin didn’t have any cars registered in his own name, but Rythian had seen him leaving in the truck before, so it wasn’t unreasonable to think it might have some evidence of the crime in it.

He strolled down the block, casually glancing into the windows of the truck as he passed it. Inside the cabin was a pair of leather work gloves, a lot of old Cluckin’ Bell takeout bags, and a couple pine scented air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror. There was nothing in the truck bed apart from a locked toolbox. The back of the truck had a pair of chrome truck nutz dangling from the tow hitch, which made Rythian hate Sips a little, even though he’d never met him.

Well, that was fruitless. He paused on the sidewalk, taking out his phone as if he had received a text, and then surreptitiously glanced into the ground floor apartment window. The windows were barred against burglars, but there was a light on inside, making it easy to see a kitchen table strewn with mail, more Cluckin’ Bell takeout containers, and a couple empty bottles of Pißwasser. He could see a fragment of a TV screen in the next room. It was on.

The next window had its curtains drawn. He paused outside the apartment door, uncertain. There had to be something. Sjin had to have something to do with the robbery today. Rythian refused to believe that he wasn’t involved.

“Looking for something?”

Rythian turned his head, startled. Sjin was coming toward him down the sidewalk, holding two plastic bags from 24/7. His expression was politely friendly. He clearly had no idea who Rythian was.

“Uh…” Rythian blinked at him. “No?”

“You’re standing in front of my door.” Sjin stopped next to him.

“Oh, I—” Rythian looked at the door, then stepped aside. “Sorry. I was on my phone and I wasn’t paying attention.” He gave a wry smile and a shrug.

Sjin squinted at the scars on Rythian’s face. “You look like you lost a fight with a lawn mower,” he said.

Something very hot kindled in Rythian’s chest. “Thanks,” he said, trying to keep his voice bland.

Sjin set down one plastic bag at his feet, then fished in his pocket for his keys. “No offense or anything,” he added belatedly. His dark red hair, in a messy ponytail, was damp like he’d recently showered. He didn’t look wounded or anything, so there was no evidence there.

“None taken,” Rythian said, unclenching his jaw. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

Sjin glanced back at him and grinned. “I think I’d remember,” he said. He unlocked the door and shoved it open, then picked up the other bag and stepped into the apartment. He started to shut the door.

Rythian put his foot out, stopping it just before it shut. “It was Sjin, right? Sjin Sykes?”

There was silence on the other side, and then Sjin pulled the door open again. His expression was no longer friendly. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Rythian.” Rythian kept his foot where it was. “You might know me as Detective Hellstrand.”

Sjin stared at him for a moment. “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” he said, his voice so flat that Rythian knew he was lying.

“No? I think I picked you up for stealing a car a few years back. Funny, it’s all coming back to me.” Rythian shrugged. “Ah well, it’s water under the bridge, right?”

“Keep it down in there,” a man’s voice called from the other room. “Weazel News is coming on.”

“Shut up, Sips,” Sjin called back, not looking away from Rythian. Quieter, he said, “What are you doing here, Detective Hellstrand?”

“Grocery shopping,” Rythian said innocently. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Sjin’s phone rang in his pocket. He hesitated, then pulled it out and glanced at the screen. His eyes widened a fraction and he answered it. “Where the _fuck_ have you been, Lal?” he hissed, turning away from Rythian.

“Are you talking to Lalna?” Rythian asked sharply.

Sips appeared in the kitchen doorway, slouching toward the fridge in nothing but a pair of bicycle shorts that left very little to the imagination. He gave Rythian a bored look and then took a Pißwasser out of the fridge.

Sjin plugged his other ear with a finger and moved further from Rythian. “Where are you?” A pause, then, “More specific.”

The apartment smelled like stale pizza and the overflowing trash from the kitchen bin. Sips cracked open the beer and took a swig, then hitched a hip on the counter, watching them. Rythian eased the door open a fraction more and stepped up into the doorway.

Sjin turned around and glared at him. “Which river, and which freeway?”

Well that was quite interesting. Why was Sjin so concerned about Lalna? Could it have been something to do with today’s robbery? Rythian met Sjin’s gaze until the other man looked away and heaved a sigh.

“Look, I’ve got… I’m meeting with someone right now,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in a bit. Text me if you figure out where you are.” He hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket.

“Something wrong?” Rythian asked.

“Get out of my apartment,” Sjin said. “You need a warrant to get in here.”

Rythian held up his empty hands and stepped back out the door. “No worries,” he said. “I’m not on duty or anything. Just going for a walk. It was… nice seeing you again.”

“Right,” Sjin said, and slammed the door shut in his face.

Rythian stepped away from the door, knowing that Sjin or Sips were probably watching him from the window. He started walking toward his car, pondering on what he’d heard. _Which river, and which freeway?_

Forget the laundry detergent. He felt like going for a drive.

* * *

  


### Xephos

Xephos stood in front of his office windows, adjusting his tie. He hated ties. Why had he ever chosen a job that required ties? Perhaps he could change the dress code. He was CEO, so he could do that, right?

His office in YogTowers had a great view of Los Santos through its floor to ceiling windows. He could even see the mountains in the distance, hazy and blue.

“Mr. Brindley?”

He turned from the window. His secretary was leaning into his office.

“You have a meeting with Mr. Strife in five,” she said. When he nodded, she shut the door again.

When he sat back down at his desk, there was a quiet buzzing coming from a desk drawer. He opened it and took out the burner phone he used for unsavory purposes. There was a text from one of the Stunt Lads.

 _Dropped off_ , it said.

That meant the PHLX-2 tanks were in the cars in the scrapyard, as they had previously arranged. He sent a text to his two most trustworthy security officers and then tucked the phone back in his desk just as his secretary let in Will Strife.

Xephos rose to his feet and came around his desk to shake Strife’s hand. “I’m glad you could make it,” he said.

“Afternoon,” said Strife. “You’ve got quite a view, huh?”

Xephos gestured, inviting him over to the windows. They both went over and stood, looking out.

Smoke was rising from the freeway that ran by the building. He couldn’t see the vehicles, just the aftermath.

“Just another day in Los Santos,” said Strife, his gaze on the smoke. “What do you think that’s about?”

“No idea,” Xephos said lightly. “Come, have a seat and let’s chat.”

Strife allowed himself to be herded to the armchairs that sat across the room, next to the bookshelves. He watched Xephos with heavy lidded eyes, seeming content to wait for him to make the first move.

Xephos leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. “I have a project underway that’s going to change your little weapons manufacturing business for good,” he said.

Strife remained silent, one side of his mouth quirking up at the jab.

“YogLabs is starting on a new venture into…well, we’re calling it weaponized crowd control.”

“I hate to tell you this, but ultrasonic weapons and crowd control drones have already been invented,” Strife said. “And tear gas has been around for… quite a while.”

“Ha.” Xephos matched his little smirk. “I can’t give you the details, but we’re working on developing an alternative to tear gas that won’t just dispel protestors, but force them to submit permanently.”

“Oh, Xephos,” Strife said, shaking his head. “I knew YogLabs was derivative but honestly I’m surprised at you. You’re making an off-brand version of PHLX?”

“We’re improving on the recipe,” Xephos said, somewhat sharply.

“The recipe is classified information,” Strife said. “Trust me, I know. Strife Solutions has connections in the US military, but we haven’t come anywhere close to this recipe. And if we can’t, you certainly haven’t.”

Xephos smile fully this time. “I’m sure even you’ve heard of the new recipe the military has come up with? PHLX-2?”

“The stuff that causes psychotic breaks with reality and unrestrained violence?” Strife drawled. “I think there was something in the news about a woman chewing off all her fingers?”

Xephos waved a hand dismissively. “That was the old formula. This new one is said to be much improved, making victims suggestible but not violent, or at least not unless that’s the suggestion they’re given.”

“You’re talking about mind control.”

“Not control. Suggestion. You gas a crowd of protestors, tell them to go home and love their country, all of a sudden you have no more protestors.”

“You tell them to kill themselves, or someone else…” Strife let the sentence dangle.

“It has many uses,” Xephos answered evenly. They stared at each other for a moment.

“If you were working with the US government, I’d know about it,” Strife said.

“No, no, of course not. This is an independent endeavor. The US government is a valuable ally, but they’d insist we limit our market to them alone, and I don’t feel that that’s beneficial to our bottom line.”

“This is where I come in, isn’t it?”

“Strife Solutions has international clientele,” Xephos said. “I can’t deny that. Your weapons can be found on both sides of every armed conflict in the world today. YogLabs can’t boast that same reach. I’m proposing a partnership.”

“You want us to be your distributor?”

“We sell it to you at bulk pricing, and you distribute it as you see fit.” Xephos sat up, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “We can negotiate the rates.”

“I haven’t seen much reason why I should,” Strife said. “You _might_ have a product that _might_ be better than what the military has? I’m not going to risk my reputation on some unproven chemical. I don’t deal in counterfeit materials.”

Xephos’s lips thinned. “We’ll deliver, I assure you. Once we’re done with research and development, we’re going to have something the military can’t even dream of.”

Strife sat back in his chair, slinging an ankle over his knee, the picture of disdain. “Why are you talking to me now, when you don’t even have a product to sell?”

“I’m looking for investors. This new branch of our research is expensive, and while our profits are healthy, we simply can’t fund it in its entirety. If you’re willing to invest, we’ll sell you our first product at deeply discounted rates, and grant you exclusivity for a negotiable period of time after.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Two hundred million.”

Xephos watched Strife’s eyebrows rise. “That’s quite a lot of money with no guarantee of success.”

“My scientists assure me that we can have preliminary demonstrations for you in as little as six months. It should be ready for production within five years if everything goes as planned.”

“So I just have to drop a mere twenty million before I see a demonstration,” Strife said.

“I have other potential investors. You’re not the first I’ve approached, and you won’t be the last. You can dawdle if you like. I wouldn’t blame you. But if you don’t invest in a changing future…” Xephos shrugged. “You may find that soon governments don’t have a use for your weapons anymore, when they can change the minds of their people without them.”

Strife studied him, looking troubled. Xephos smiled inwardly. It looked like he’d struck a nerve.

“Think about it,” Xephos went on when Strife didn’t immediately respond. “I’ll give you a week. Just be aware that I’ve given others the same amount of time, and I’ll be going with whoever makes the decision first.” He rose to his feet and Strife did as well. “I’m glad you could make the time to chat.”

“I appreciate the opportunity you’re offering,” Strife said, shaking Xephos’s hand. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Do.” Xephos walked him to the office door, then watched him head out. He returned to his desk and sat down.

That had gone well. Of all the investors he’d spoken with, Strife was the one he wanted to work with the most. He had a good feeling about that meeting. He wouldn’t be surprised if he heard from Strife within two days.

His burner phone buzzed in the desk. Xephos opened the drawer and picked it up. The text was from his security officer, Strippin Thorne.

_U sure they were delivered?_

_Yes_ , he wrote back

_Not here m8_

Frowning, he shot off a text to Trott. _Where did you drop them?_

The answer came back quickly. _The spot we agreed on. Why?_

Xephos texted back to Strippin. _Look again._

* * *

  


### Trott

Trott stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at his phone. “Uh, guys?” he said.

“Where’s my sandwich, Scrott?” Smiffy called from the other room. “I’m hungry.”

Trott went to the kitchen doorway. Smiffy and Ross were sprawled on the couch in front of the TV, playing Splatoon.

“Xephos told us to drop the tanks in the scrapyard, right? I’m not crazy.”

“Yeah,” Ross said without turning around.

“You didn’t hide the cars, did you?”

“Nah. Not so you couldn’t find them if you were looking.” This time Ross turned his head. “…Why?”

“His people can’t find them.”

“Can’t find the cars, or can’t find the tanks?” Smiffy asked.

Trott shot off another text. The answer he got from Xephos made his stomach drop.

“He found the cars,” he said. “Not the tanks.”

“What the fuck?” Smiffy sat up. “Is he trying to screw us out of our money? We left those tanks there. I covered them with a tarp but his people aren’t that stupid, right? They can search a car.”

“Did you lock the doors?” Trott ventured.

“Of fucking course I did. Not like you couldn’t break a window if you really wanted to get in there, but no one knew that’s where we stashed the tanks.”

“Except for the other guys,” Ross said quietly.

Silence fell. “They wouldn’t do that,” Trott said. “They don’t get paid either if Xephos doesn’t get the goods.”

Ross shrugged. “I mean, it’s worth a lot on its own. Maybe they thought they could get a better price on the street. It’s not like we didn’t consider that.”

“That’s insane, though,” Trott said. “Sure, maybe we could get some more for that, but then we’d have Xephos as an enemy. That’s not a good place to be.”

“He’s just trying to screw us,” Smiffy insisted hotly, tossing the Wiimote aside. “He found those tanks. He just doesn’t want to pay us.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have dead dropped them,” Trott groaned. “Fuck.”

Smiffy shot to his feet. “He’s not getting away with this. Come on. We’re going to that scrapyard and we’re going to find those fucking tanks.”

“And if they’re not there?” Trott said.

Smiffy gritted his teeth. “Then we figure out who we have to kill to find them.”


	5. Chapter 5

### Lalna

Lalna scratched at a patch of drying blood on the back of his neck as he walked. The pain in his other hand had dulled to a constant burn, and the pain in his head was taking it easy on him right now. He hadn’t had to throw up in almost a whole hour, and it had been a good twenty minutes since the last time he’d thought his head was filled with invisible spiders.

He was walking along the river, staying under the freeway. Nano had wandered off two hours earlier. She hadn’t come back, and he hoped that was because she was still looking for help, and not because she’d collapsed in a puddle somewhere. After the nausea had passed, he’d decided to walk and find either her body or a ride home.

His brain kept giving him little zaps when he blinked or turned his head. Maybe it was the concussion, or maybe it was the flux. Maybe it was the spiders. It didn’t matter. It made him feel like punching something. Why did people even take this recreationally? Maybe the new formula had something added to it, like that thing they give alcoholics to make alcohol taste really bad.

Nano hadn’t even left him his phone, so he couldn’t call anyone for help or give Sjin better directions on how to find him, not that he really had any. He knew that if he followed the freeway for a while, he’d come to an exit ramp, and he’d be able to figure out where to go from there.

He was half tempted to try to go back to the scrapyard, but he wasn’t even sure what direction that was in any more. How did he get lost in this city, for fuck’s sake? He’d lived here for years and he still couldn’t find his way to his own neighborhood.

The sun was very low in the sky now, sending pink light through the skyscrapers. The road next to him was infrequently traveled, so when a car turned down the street, moving slow, it caught his attention. He turned.

It was an ugly gray Vapid Stanier, one of those decrepit deathtraps that people drove when they couldn’t afford anything better. Not Sips’s truck, in other words.

The car stopped next to him and the driver leaned over to open the passenger window. It didn’t even have automatic windows, Lalna noted. The man, thirtyish, attractive in a Bond movie villain sort of way, had dirty blond hair, a pointy chin, and day old stubble that didn’t quite cover some nasty looking scars on his face. He gave Lalna a smile that didn’t reach his hard blue eyes.

“Need a ride?” the man said. He had an accent that Lalna couldn’t place.

Lalna kept walking. “Nah, I’m good.”

The car rolled forward, keeping pace with him. “You sure?”

“I’m not ged—getting into your creepy rape car,” Lalna said. His words were only slightly slurred. He felt proud.

The man gave a sort of shocked laugh. “What? No, I’m—” He sighed and hit the brakes. Lalna heard him put the car into park.

He started running down to the river, where the car couldn’t follow him. His abused lungs immediately seized up with the exertion, but fuck if he was going to get into some douche’s car without a fight.

Except the man could run. _Fast._ Lalna hadn’t made it to the river before the man was out of the car and sprinting after him.

“Freeze!” the man shouted. “LSPD!”

Undercover police? Lalna scrambled down the incline, gaze darting across the river, looking for an escape. The water couldn’t be that deep, and if he got across, he could find a way up the other side. The guy probably wouldn’t shoot him in the back, not that that was without precedent. He reached the river.

The man plowed into him, shoving him off balance. They both crashed down into the water. Lalna plunged under the surface, barely clamping his eyes and mouth shut in time. Who knew what shit was in this filthy Los Santos water. He flailed an arm back, trying to push the man away, and then his face hit slimy cement river bottom with an explosion of pain.

He kicked out, his foot connecting with flesh. This guy was solid muscle. The body armor Lalna was wearing was soaking up the water, pulling him down, and it was hard to get his head back above the surface. He grabbed a fistful of cloth—shirt, maybe—and tried to pull himself up. The man got a hold of his vest and yanked him out of the water. Lalna spluttered when he broke the surface, and the two of them collapsed back onto the shore, coughing.

“You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer and resisting arrest,” the man said between gasps, dragging him further up shore and taking a set of handcuffs out of his pocket. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lalna protested as the man cuffed his hands behind his back. “You were in an unmarked car! I didn’t know you were a cop. That’s not fair!”

“You have the right to an attorney,” the man said over him. “And yes, I fucking shouted LSPD at you and you kept running. If you cannot afford an attorney…”

Lalna frantically tried to catalog any incriminating evidence he might have on him. He had a handgun, which he probably should have used at some point but maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t. It wasn’t registered, of course. Now he was glad Nano had taken his phone, so the police couldn’t take it.

“You had no reason to chase me,” Lalna said.

“No?” The man laughed. “Have you seen yourself? You’re covered in blood.”

“That’s not illegal.”

“You’re wearing body armor,” the man added. “You’re a felon. That’s illegal.”

“That’s…” Lalna trailed off. “How—how did you know that?”

The man hauled him up to his feet. “Because I was the one who arrested you, Jones,” the man hissed, frisking him. He found the gun and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans.

Lalna twisted around to stare at the man as the man marched him up the ramp to the shitty Stanier. Surely he’d remember those scars? Though maybe they were new. Could this have been the cop who picked him up for grand theft auto eleven years ago? How did the guy even remember that?

“Were you following me?” Lalna asked.

“I was just passing by,” the man said. He reached ahead of Lalna and yanked open the back door to his car. “Get in.”

Lalna put on the brakes, pushing back against the man. The man was taller than him by an inch, and seemed to be made of solid, wiry muscle, but he stopped when Lalna did, maintaining a distance of a few inches between them.

“Show me your badge,” Lalna said.

The man glowered at him, then dug in his pocket for his wallet, still gripping Lalna’s shoulder. Lalna considered yanking free, but he wouldn’t be able to get away, and in any case, the man knew his name.

He hoped Nano had gotten away, and hadn’t been picked up by the cops already. That thought terrified him. If the cops got them both, then they must know about the heist. Right now, Lalna could convince himself this was just a string of bad luck.

The man held up the badge and ID. There was his picture, all right. Sharp cheekbones and all. Detective Rythian Hellstrand. The name was familiar, and at last the memory came to him. Hellstrand had been a lot younger back then, and hadn’t had any scars.

“You couldn’t possibly remember me,” Lalna said stubbornly, looking from the ID to the man’s face. “You arrested me _eleven years ago_. We were together for how long? An hour? Two? Enough time for you to do some paperwork and fingerprint me.” The arrest hadn’t even been eventful. Hellstrand and his partner had had a warrant for their arrest and had shown up to Sjin’s apartment, where Lalna occasionally crashed on the couch. There hadn’t been a chance to run.

“That wasn’t the last time we met,” Hellstrand said, his voice low and very, very cold. He gave Lalna a firm shove toward the open door, and this time Lalna let himself be shoved inside. It wasn’t a police car, not even a plainclothes one. There were crumpled gas station receipts in the back seat and a pair of jogging shoes. It smelled like cigarettes.

Hellstrand engaged the child lock on the door and slammed it shut, then went around to the other back door and did the same. Lalna slouched in the seat. The body armor and gun charges would get him, what, a few months in jail, maybe? Probation if he was lucky? He had no idea. He could probably get Xephos to get him a lawyer.

Hellstrand came around to the driver’s seat and slid into the car, but didn’t start it. Instead he pulled out a cell phone.

“When did we last meet, then?” Lalna asked.

The man ignored him. “This is Detective Hellstrand,” he said into the phone. “I’ve made a citizen’s arrest, and I need an on-duty cop to take over. Badge number 1337.”

Lalna stared at the back of his head while he gave directions to the dispatcher. Something touched his leg and he jerked violently away, then forced himself to settle down when Hellstrand’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror to watch him.

Hellstrand ended the call, still watching him in the mirror. “We met,” he said, “in Chumash.”

“Chumash…?”

“The Blaine County Savings Bank in Chumash Plaza,” Hellstrand said. “About five years ago.”

Lalna’s gaze dropped down to his damp shoes. Oh.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been to that one,” he lied. “I use Fleeca.”

“My partner and I were called in to a bank robbery in progress,” Hellstrand said. “The robbers had blasted open the vault with C4 and the explosion had set a fire going inside the walls. There were hostages trapped inside, so we had to go in without backup.”

“Sounds rough,” said Lalna.

“You sure you don’t remember this?” Hellstrand said, his voice deceptively calm. “Someone had rigged the office full of hostages with a tripwire, so when my partner opened the door, the explosion nearly took off her arm. And then one of the bank robbers shot me in the face.” He scratched one of the scars on his cheek with his thumb.

“I remember being questioned by the police about this,” Lalna said guardedly. “They didn’t have anything to go on, though.”

“Not enough,” Hellstrand agreed.

Lalna couldn’t remember if he or Sjin had pulled the trigger. It didn’t matter that much. He hadn’t even paid much attention to the two cops who had arrived at the bank before they’d finished emptying the vault. He’d just opened fire and run with the money.

“Why do you think I was there?” Lalna asked. He had to choose his words carefully. His mind wasn’t a hundred percent clear right now and he didn’t want to accidentally admit to anything.

Hellstrand’s gaze unfocused, looking out the windshield. “You said ‘the tripwire worked,’” he said, his voice distant as if he were there, watching it happen again. “Sjin laughed. I recognized your voices, even though I couldn’t see your faces.” His gaze refocused. “That testimony wasn’t enough to bring you to trial,” he added, his voice much sharper.

Lalna shrugged and looked out the window. “Maybe you should switch to Fleeca. They have a better track record for security.”

Hellstrand let out a long breath through his nose, but didn’t say anything. Silence fell. In the distance, a siren wailed. Lalna’s head was flickering again, like a radio not quite tuned to the right channel. He shook his head to clear it, then squeezed his eyes shut when pain spiked at the movement. Behind his eyelids, he could see a deep purple darkness. He opened his eyes again.

“You look pretty good for someone who was shot in the face,” Lalna said. Then he raised his head quickly. “Uh, I mean, not in a—I just mean you don’t. Look dead. Is all.”

“…Thanks,” said Hellstrand dryly. Something almost like amusement pulled at the corners of his eyes before disappearing. Lalna slid forward in the seat a little, pursuing that.

“You’re not on duty now, are you? You said it was a citizen’s arrest.”

Hellstrand looked at him but didn’t answer.

“Is that even legal? Is this kidnapping right now?”

“Not if you actually committed a crime,” Hellstrand said. “Which I can clearly see you have.”

“What if you were wrong? I have this body armor legally.”

“We’ll see.”

“Would you be disciplined at work if you were wrong? Or would you just be fined?”

“I’m not wrong.”

“They’ll know that you’re doing this for revenge. They’ll know you were hunting me down specifically. That’s harassment. You could get in a lot of trouble for that. I could press charges against you.” Lalna perched on the edge of the seat, meeting Hellstrand’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “But you’re not on duty, so you could just… let me go.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You tell me.” This time Lalna couldn’t hold eye contact. He focused on the cigarette burns on the dashboard. “Is there anything I could do for you?”

Silence.

“Are you offering to suck my cock,” Hellstrand said flatly.

“I never said that.”

Hellstrand reached for his door handle and wrenched the door open, and for one terrifying second Lalna thought he was going to hit him, or, worse, take him up on it. But instead, Hellstrand just got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and stalked down the sidewalk a few feet. He took out a cigarette and lit it, hunching his shoulders.

Lalna slumped back in the seat and closed his eyes, listening to the sirens get closer.

* * *

  


### Rythian

Lalna Jones sat in the interrogation room, head buried in his folded arms. Rythian watched from the next room, behind the one-way glass. He hadn’t been this close to the man in a while. He could walk in there and strangle the man if he wanted to. Well, no, he really couldn’t. But he could think about it, while simultaneously _not_ thinking about Lalna in the backseat of his car, saying ‘Is there anything I can do you for?’ He hadn’t even mentioned a blow job. Why had Rythian’s mind jumped to that? Usually criminals tried to bribe him with cash. Maybe it was because he knew the state of Lalna’s bank account.

“Do you have any proof at all that he was involved in the armed robbery today?” his police chief said, staring through the glass as well. “Or was this just one of your hunches?”

“No proof,” Rythian admitted. “But he was covered in blood and wearing body armor, and he ran when I spoke to him.”

“You were off duty,” said the chief.

“I still have the authority to arrest people when I’m off duty,” Rythian said stiffly.

“I know. That doesn’t explain why you were in that part of town.”

Rythian shrugged. “You’re right. It was one of my hunches.”

The chief snorted. “Go on, then.”

Rythian stepped out of the room, took a deep breath, and entered the interrogation room. Lalna didn’t look up when he entered. Rythian pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

“Mr. Jones,” Rythian said.

This time Lalna shifted so he was looking at Rythian, though he didn’t lift his head. He’d gotten medical attention for an apparent concussion, and the bandages were making his already unruly blond hair stand on end. One of his hands was thickly wrapped in a bandage, each finger splinted.

“Hi again,” he said, his cheeks going pink. He looked uncomfortable.

Rythian kept his expression a stony mask. “Tell me why you were covered in blood when I found you.”

Lalna covered his face again. “Because I hit my head.” His voice was muffled.

“How?”

“I drove my car off the road.”

“Sit up,” Rythian said irritably. Lalna unfolded from the position and slumped back in his chair, making it creak. Everything about him was messy, haphazard, from his floppy hair to his scruffy flip flops. He looked like a crazy scientist in a thriller movie, the kind with mad theories scribbled in marker on his bedroom wall. At the same time, he looked like the kind of stoner who died early in horror movies. It was an odd mishmash of tropes.

“Where was the accident?”

Lalna shrugged, his gaze traveling unsteadily around the room. “Don’t remember.”

“Why not?”

“I have a concussion, don’t I?”

“We don’t have any reports of single car accidents so far today.”

“Maybe you haven’t found it yet.”

“What caused the crash?”

“Don’t remember.”

Rythian tried not to sigh. The concussion amnesia defense could only go so far. “Was anyone else in the car with you?”

“No.”

“You remember that, but nothing else?” Rythian rested his elbows on the table. “What about your flatmate, Kim Richards? Where was she?”

There was a pause. Lalna’s gaze settled on Rythian. “I want a lawyer,” he said, sharper than Rythian had expected.

“Why? Do you have something to hide?”

Lalna didn’t rise to the bait. “Because I have a right to one.”

Rythian pushed back his chair, sending an annoyed look at the one-way glass. He returned to the observation room, where the chief was standing at the window, arms crossed.

“That wasn’t very fruitful,” said the chief when the door to the observation room had closed.

“The body armor will get him three years in prison,” Rythian said. “The firearm could get him another two or three.”

“I’m not convinced about his involvement in the robbery. That’s a stretch,” said the chief.

“We don’t even have all the forensics back yet,” Rythian said. “We can hold him here until we do.” He looked through the glass at Lalna, who had planted his face in his arms again. “But let’s…not let the FIB know about him yet, okay?”

“No reason to let them know if we don’t have any proof to link him to the crime. We can keep him for seventy-two hours before we have to arraign him,” said the chief with a shrug, heading for the door. “That’s how long you’ve got to find evidence.” He headed into the hallway and the door swung shut behind him.

Rythian frowned, scratching at his chin and staring through the glass. Lalna swatted at his leg like he was brushing away a fly, then settled down again. He’d done the same thing in the car, too, and his speech had been a little slurred. And there was that ruptured tank they’d found on the freeway…

He pushed the door to the observation room open and chased after the chief. “What are the symptoms of flux overdose?”

* * *

  


### Nano

“I can see your truck now,” Nano said, rising up on her tiptoes to see over the roof of a parked car. “See me waving?”

“Gotcha,” said Sjin, and a moment later, the truck pulled up to the curb. Nano yanked open the passenger’s side door and clambered in.

“Finally,” she said.

“It’s a big city, okay?” Sjin grumbled. “It’s not like I wasn’t looking. Now where’s Lalna?”

“I left him at the place where I first called you. I hope he’s still there.” Nano glanced at the dashboard clock, worried. It had been well over an hour and a half since she’d last seen Lalna. There was no guarantee that he’d waited. “Just follow this road for now. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“What even happened to you two?” Sjin asked, pulling away from the curb. “Ross said you jumped out of his car?”

“I don’t remember much,” Nano admitted. “I, um. The flux got us pretty bad.”

“That stuff is dangerous.” Sjin frowned out the windshield. “I’m glad we don’t have to deal with it much longer.”

Nano settled back in her seat. She was exhausted after all the walking she’d been doing, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and take a long shower. She couldn’t do that before they found Lalna, though, and she only vaguely remembered where she’d left him.

“Turn right here,” she said. “Follow the river.”

Sjin obeyed, and for a few moments they traveled in silence. Nano kept an eye on the river as they drove past, trying to seek out familiar landmarks or, better yet, Lalna walking down the sidewalk. There was nothing there, however.

“So what do we do if he’s not there?” Sjin said.

“Keep looking,” Nano said stubbornly.

“He could have caught a cab or something. It’s not like he can call us.”

“He wouldn’t just go home,” Nano said. “Not if he didn’t know where I’d gone.”

“You sure?” Sjin asked.

“Yes,” Nano snapped.

They continued to drive. Finally, after another half hour, Nano recognized the bend in the river where she’d left Lalna. Sjin pulled over, letting her leap out and run down the bank.

Lalna wasn’t there, of course, and he didn’t reply when she shouted his name. There was no one around. Which way would he have started walking, if he’d decided to go looking for help? Would he have followed her, or would he have gone in the opposite direction, hoping to cover more ground?

Sjin followed her in the car, rolling along the road for as long as it paralleled the river. The sun was starting to set, but Nano stubbornly kept looking. Finally Sjin leaned on the horn and she trudged back to the car.

“He can take care of himself,” Sjin said as she climbed back into the car. “For all we know, he’s back in your apartment, sound asleep. Or maybe he went for medical attention. You said he broke his fingers, right?”

“What if he was arrested?” Nano said in a small voice.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” Nano slouched in the seat. “Maybe he looked suspicious. Maybe someone saw the blood and called the cops.”

“He would still get one phone call, right? He’d have called you,” Sjin said. “There’s no reason to think—”

Sjin’s phone started ringing, cutting him off. Sjin and Nano exchanged a glance, and then Sjin pulled the phone out of his pocket.

“Hello?” he said. There was a pause, and then he glanced at Nano. At his expression, her heart sank.

“When are they going to set bail?” Sjin said. “So you have to spend the night? …Yes, I can contact Xephos.”

Nano leaned over and gently banged her head against the truck window.


	6. Chapter 6

### Trott

The next morning dawned clear and bright. The city air smelled like car exhaust and gunpowder.

Trott sat in the living room of his apartment, cupping a mug of coffee in both hands. Smiffy and Ross were both still asleep, and would be until the sun was high in the sky, but he always woke up early, especially on days when he was worried.

The flux tanks were missing.

Lalna was in jail.

Xephos was incandescent with rage.

There was really very few ways the heist could have gone worse, barring arrest or full party wipe. If they’d just failed at getting the goods, they’d have lost the cash reward but they wouldn’t be worse off. But now Xephos thought one or all of them had stolen the tanks for their own gain, and Lalna could turn on them at any time. Ross had suggested fleeing to Mexico, which was always a possibility, but Trott wanted to hold off on that for as long as possible. They’d have to put the TV show on hold if they did, and that meant they’d lose what little ad revenue and fan base they had.

There was a sharp rap on the apartment door, startling Trott so much that he nearly spilled his coffee. He scanned the room for any illegal contraband, then got up and padded barefoot to the door. He opened it, keeping the chain on.

Two men in suits stood in the hallway outside. Both of them were quite a bit taller than Trott, and the one in the back could probably bench press him one-handed.

“Chris Trott?” said one of the men.

“Who are you?” Trott replied.

“I’m Turps. This is my mate Strippin.” The man in the front gestured over his shoulder. “We work for Mr. Brindley. Can we come in?”

Trott stared at them for a moment, knowing that if they really wanted to come in, the little chain lock couldn’t stop them. He closed the door, removed the chain, and opened it again.

“Come on,” he said, and returned to his coffee and the couch.

The two men followed him. Turps sat in one of the other chairs. Strippin remained standing, arms crossed over his chest.

“Are the others around?” Turps said.

“They’re sleeping.” Trott glanced toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Turps nodded to Strippin, who disappeared down the hallway. Trott straightened but Turps gave him a calming gesture.

“We don’t want to say this more than once,” he said. His voice was friendly but the threat behind his words was very cold.

“I understand,” Trott said warily. “We had nothing to do with the disappearance of the tanks. We delivered them right where we said we did.”

“I know, I know.” Turps smiled at him. Again, there was something unnerving behind it. “No one wants to upset Mr. Brindley. But believe me, he’s _very upset_ right now.”

There was muffled swearing in the other room, and a moment of raised voices, but then Smiffy came trudging down the hallway, rubbing his eyes and grumbling under his breath. Ross appeared a moment later.

“What’s this about?” Smiffy said, collapsing onto the couch next to Trott.

“I’m sure you all know that the events yesterday were the result of several months of planning by Mr. Brindley,” said Turps, leaning back in his chair. “He invested a lot of time and money into the particulars of that plan.”

“We did exactly what he told us to,” Trott said. Turps waved that away.

“I know you did your best, but the fact of the matter is, the job isn’t done. Someone—and I don’t want to imply that it was any of you—has stolen the payload.” Turps met Trott’s gaze, then shifted to Smiffy and then Ross. “Though you may not have had anything to do with it, you do have a responsibility to locate the payload and deliver it directly to Mr. Brindley, or there may be unfortunate consequences.”

“How do we know Xephos didn’t hide the tanks himself to avoid paying us?” Smiffy burst out. Trott closed his eyes, pained.

“Are you accusing Mr. Brindley of something, son?” Turps said, his voice dangerously low.

“No, of course not,” Trott said.

“I’m just saying he has as much reason as any of us to hide the tanks,” Smiffy continued. Trott elbowed him in the side. Smiffy, annoyed, elbowed him back.

“What does Mr. Brindley want us to do?” Trott said loudly, over Smiffy’s next words.

“Get the payload to him within a week and you get your original pay. If you also deliver the thieves, you’ll get a tidy bonus.” Turps rose to his feet. “Fail to deliver the payload, and you’ll get another visit from us. We won’t be as friendly next time.”

Smiffy shot to his feet. Trott leapt up as well, grabbing his arm. There was a steely silence as Turps and Smiffy glared at each other. Then Smiffy let Trott pull him back down to the couch. Turps stepped around them and he and Strippin went out the door.

“What the fuck, Smiffy,” Trott said as soon as the door was shut behind them. “Were you trying to get a mouthful of brass knuckles?”

“They’re just hired goons,” Smiffy said angrily, shoving Trott’s arm away and getting to his feet again. He stalked to the apartment door and locked it. “I’m not going to take this laying down.”

“We’ll talk to the others,” Trott said. “Maybe one of them hid it for a good reason. Maybe they were afraid the police were closing in. It could be fine.”

* * *

  


### Lalna

The night in the holding cell had been long and painful. The officers on duty weren’t exactly prompt with the painkillers, and Lalna’s broken fingers and head injury throbbed in time with his heartbeat all night, making it impossible to sleep, even if he hadn’t been an insomniac.

His lawyer, Ms. Minute, met with him in a conference room the next morning. She was not directly connected to YogLabs, but she was being paid by them, and was a far better lawyer than Lalna could have ever afforded on his own. After a brief discussion, during which Lalna was advised to keep his fat mouth shut if he knew what was good for him, they settled down at the table to wait for the meeting to start.

_They have nothing_ , Lalna told himself. _There’s no way they can connect me to the flux heist._ He was so on edge that he flinched whenever someone walked past the conference room window.

“Breathe,” said Ms. Minute, breaking the silence.

He laughed shakily and took in a breath. “I’m okay,” he said.

“You’ll be out of here in a few hours. I’m going to insist that they arraign you today, and Mr. Brindley has offered to pay your bail.”

“Will bail be high? It was only a gun and a bulletproof vest. I didn’t even shoot anyone.”

Ms. Minute raised her eyebrows. “For an ex-con with a record of violent felonies? It should be a hundred and fifty thousand, give or take.”

“Christ.”

“You could get up to six years in prison for it, but don’t worry. That’s worst case scenario.”

“ _Six_?” Lalna squeaked. “I _stole a car_ and that only got me four.”

“The Los Santos court system doesn’t like repeat offenders.” Ms. Minute smiled at him thinly.

Before he could respond, the door opened and three police officers came in. The police chief, a hefty man with graying sideburns and an easygoing expression, came in first. Behind him was a young woman with glossy brown hair and a sleeve tattoo of a robot arm. She smiled at Lalna pleasantly before taking a seat.

Last in was Hellstrand, who, in uniform, looked somehow more intimidating than he had wearing all black and trolling the street creepily. Lalna mentally revised his original impression of him as a Bond villain. Hellstrand was more the second in command, the kind who killed people with cold, inhuman efficiency and probably was really good with knives. Hellstrand glared at Lalna, who looked away.

“Good morning,” said the chief. “Ms. Minute. Mr. Jones. This is Detective Proasheck. You’ve already met Detective Hellstrand.”

Hellstrand tossed a manila envelope on the table. A few glossy photographs slid out of it, showing graphic photos of dead soldiers on the highway, and the flaming wreckage of the escort vehicles.

“Where were you yesterday afternoon around two?” he started, looming over the table.

“My client was driving to a job interview in East Vinewood,” Ms. Minute said smoothly.

“Wearing body armor and carrying a gun?”

“The interview was for the position of security officer, and the body armor and firearm was employer mandated. You’ll find this statement corroborated by two witnesses.” She pushed a sheet of paper across the table.

“The firearm was unlicensed,” Detective Hellstrand said.

“My client is willing to plead guilty for possession of an unlicensed firearm, in exchange for a reduced sentence of twelve months parole.”

Detective Proasheck spoke up. “If he was in an accident as he said, where did it take place? Where’s his car?”

“My client has no memory of the accident due to the head trauma he sustained. Given the location where he was picked up by Detective Hellstrand, it’s likely he went off the road somewhere in downtown. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone finds his car in the river.”

Lalna winced and hoped YogLabs didn’t have possession of his actual car. He’d paid a lot of money for that thing.

Detective Hellstrand pulled a piece of paper out of his file. “We have the results of a tox screen run on Mr. Jones last night. He had extremely high levels of PHLX in his blood.”

“I would dispute that as a false positive.”

“So you’re saying he was nowhere near the incident on Del Perro Freeway yesterday, where a tank of PHLX was ruptured?”

The lawyer shook her head. “My client was not in the area at that time.”

A sharp knock came on the door to the conference room. Lalna jumped. Detective Proasheck started for the door, but before she could reach it, it opened and three people in black suits came into the room. One held a folder. Another held a cardboard box.

“Agent Angor, FIB,” said the man in the lead, flicking a badge into view and then tucking it away again. “Thanks for your help, gents, but we’re taking over here.”

“And ladies,” said Detective Proasheck. The man glanced at her blankly, then hitched a hip onto the edge of the table and looked at Lalna. He had a scruffy brown beard and square hipster glasses.

“Mr. Jones?” he said.

“Y-yeah?”

The man held out a hand to one of the other FIB agents. She handed him a folder. He flipped it open, then tossed it onto the table. A few sheets of paper slid out.

“We found blood samples at the scene of an armed robbery that took place on Del Perro Freeway yesterday afternoon. You’re under arrest for fourteen counts of murder, robbery in the first degree, assault with a semiautomatic firearm upon a peace officer, shooting at an occupied motor vehicle, burglary with explosives, unlawful explosion causing bodily injury, and resisting arrest.”

“He’s our prisoner,” Detective Hellstrand said in dismay.

“I would like a moment to confer with my client,” said the lawyer, her voice gaining an edge of alarm.

“Sure, but before you do, I have one more piece of evidence that I’d like you to explain.” The man nodded at the agents behind him. The other agent opened the cardboard box he’d been holding. He withdrew a large plastic evidence bag. Inside of it was a wolf mask, smeared in blood.

Lalna buried his face in his hands.

“I’d like an independent third party to redo the blood test,” Ms. Minute said. “Frankly I’m not impressed with your track record of forensic analysis.”

“Let’s just say that they redo the test, and the results are the same.” The FIB agent picked up the evidence bag and glanced at it, looking bored. “You’ll be lucky to get life in prison without a chance of parole. The first charge alone qualifies you for the death penalty. ”

“Even if my client were involved, he would not have been the only one. Charging him with those crimes is frankly ridiculous. No one person could have done all that, and you have no evidence linking him to any of those crimes apart from a dubious blood test. _You’ll_ be lucky to even bring this case to trial.”

Lalna couldn’t understand how his lawyer could keep such a calm expression. He was shitting himself right now.

“You’re right, there were other people involved. It’s possible we can reduce some of these charges if Mr. Jones names his accomplices.”

“My client has nothing to say on this matter.”

Detective Hellstrand shot a frustrated look at the chief, who shrugged. The interview was clearly out of their control.

“There is another option on the table here,” Agent Angor said. “There have been a series of violent crimes commissioned in the city in the last few years. We suspect, though cannot confirm, that the crimes have all been commissioned by the same person or entity. If Mr. Jones was _hired_ for this crime, well…” The agent shrugged. “There’s a slim chance that a judge would grant him immunity for his testimony against his employer.”

Ms. Minute looked at Lalna, who stared back. If he turned on Xephos—well, he’d heard stories. Sometimes people who crossed Mr. Brindley showed up floating face down in the river. Sometimes they never showed up at all.

“An employer like that would be a dangerous enemy to have,” said the lawyer, echoing his thoughts. Lalna couldn’t tell whether she was warning him, or the agent. “Immunity doesn’t count for much when you have an enemy with a very long reach.”

“There is always the witness protection program,” said the agent.

“I would like to speak with my client in private,” said the lawyer.

The agent rose to his feet. “You have fifteen minutes before these deals start to expire.”

The three agents left the room. The chief got up and followed him. Proasheck looked back at Hellstrand, looking sympathetic, then followed the chief. Frowning, Hellstrand stalked out of the room.

Lalna stared down at his clasped hands on the tabletop.

“So, uh,” he said.

“If you accept that deal, there will be a price on your head,” said Ms. Minute. “I wouldn’t expect to live out the week.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I am. I’m telling you not to accept that deal.” She sighed. “With the other charges, we could talk them down to life without parole. Perhaps life with parole, if you turn in your accomplices. Otherwise, you can risk taking it in front of a jury, but that will bring the death penalty into play.”

Lalna had been in prison once, after the carjacking. Four years in prison was an experience he never wanted to think about again, let alone repeat. These charges would get him in a maximum security facility for life.

Life in prison, or risk of assassination by Xephos.

At least one of them would be quick.

“I’m going to take the deal,” Lalna said.

* * *

  


### Rythian

“He killed fourteen people, and we’re just going to give him immunity?” Rythian crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from punching the wall. Zoey sent him a worried look. The three FIB agents were standing around the water cooler, talking amongst themselves.

“It won’t be blanket immunity,” said the chief. “Not for a federal crime. It’ll have to be use and derivative use immunity. We’ll lose the bloody mask as evidence, and anything he admits to in the course of turning in his employer, but if we can get any other evidence against him, that’s fair game. If you really want to catch him up on something, find more evidence.”

“But we have him,” Rythian said. “We could get him and all his accomplices from this, instead of some shadowy boss.”

“A boss who has commissioned a large number of crimes in the past, and will keep doing so,” said the chief. “So we lose access to some evidence. We can get a lot more out of this deal.”

“But he—”

“Rythian,” Zoey said. “Let it go.”

“I can’t!” Rythian said. “How can you?”

“I believe in innocent until proven guilty, and he was never arrested for that bank robbery,” Zoey said evenly. “Maybe he was the one who set that tripwire. I don’t know. But for all we know, this boss hired him to do that crime too. If we take out the boss, we stop a lot of people getting hurt in the future.”

“You nearly died,” Rythian insisted.

“But I didn’t.” Zoey clapped him on the shoulder. “Anyway, it’s out of our hands. We’ve lost jurisdiction. Come on. I’ll buy you lunch. You’ll get Lalna next time.”

“If there is a next time,” Rythian said grimly, “it’ll be our fault.”

* * *

  


### Xephos

The door to Xephos’s office slammed open, interrupting a meeting. Xephos looked up, annoyed, as Mr. Turpin came in, his expression panicked.

“Sir,” he said. “I need you to head to the rooftop helipad immediately.”

“Is everything okay?” Xephos asked, rising to his feet. The woman he was meeting with, an investment banker, rose to her feet as well.

“Immediately, sir.”

Xephos shook hands with the banker. “I’m sorry I have to cut this meeting short. I hope we can pick it up another time.”

Turps ushered him out of the room before the banker could respond. They got into the elevator in the hall. As soon as the doors shut, Xephos loosened his tie.

“Three squad cars are downstairs,” Turps said. “They have a warrant for your arrest. They’re on their way up right now.”

“Lalna,” Xephos growled. “His lawyer was supposed to warn me if he was going to pull this.”

“We didn’t get a call from her until after the police had arrived.”

“She’s not very useful, is she?” Xephos shot Turps a glance. “Maybe we shouldn’t employ her anymore.”

Turps nodded. “Your jet is waiting at Los Santos International. We can have you out of the country within the hour.”

“Good. You’re good to me, Turps.” Xephos sighed, leaning against the elevator wall. “Get rid of Lalna. I don’t care how. Quietly, but painfully. If you can make it look like suicide, that’ll be for the best.”

“Will do.” Turps turned toward the doors as they opened.

The staircase ahead of them led up to the helipad. Turps led the way, with Xephos right behind. As Turps crested the top step, he shot a hand back to Xephos, stopping him, but it was too late. Xephos had seen it too.

Xephos’s helicopter was not on the pad. It was an FIB helicopter instead, and there were a dozen agents waiting for them, guns drawn.

“It’s okay, Turps,” Xephos said. He straightened his suit jacket, then finished climbing the stairs, arms raised. “This is all just a misunderstanding.”


	7. Chapter 7

### Nano

Dust raced itself along the road in a stiff breeze, spinning in little vortices. What little foliage remained on the bushes out here in the desert was bent and brittle under the unrelenting sun. The rain of the last few days hadn’t made it out here to Sandy Shores. It probably hadn’t rained here in a decade. All the trailers along the street squatted in their own dried out lots, surrounded by dismantled cars and rusting washing machines. The only person Nano had seen all morning had been someone walking to get cigarettes from the gas station.

Her perch on the little front porch of Sips’s trailer was shaded from the sun by a blue tarp, which made it the least objectionable place she’d been able to find, despite the stale beer smell from the cardboard box full of empties that sat outside the front door. Every time the wind shifted, Nano got a powerful whiff of cat piss. Sips didn’t own a cat.

_Home sweet home_ , Nano thought with a glower, paring off a strip of fingernail with her knife.

The trailer really wasn’t big enough for the three of them. The one bedroom had a queen sized mattress on the floor, which Nano was glad to leave to Sips and Sjin. The sofa in the living room area had stains on it that she didn’t even want to think about. Sips and Sjin mainly used the trailer to cook meth, which explained the cat piss smell. She’d hear enough about exploding meth labs that she really didn’t want to spend too much time inside the death trap. Instead, she had spent the night sitting on the front steps, nodding off every so often, then jerking awake at the sound of a car passing on the freeway.

She’d only had a few minutes to pack in the apartment the night Lalna had been arrested. She’d taken the guns, of course, and both her own laptop and Lalna’s. She had a couple changes of clothes and a toothbrush in her bug-out bag. That was it. They’d prepared for a quick escape, but even so, she had been flustered and felt overly rushed. She didn’t know when the police might show up to search the place.

But then the news came that Lalna had turned state’s evidence on Xephos, and Nano was beginning to think that running to Sandy Shores wasn’t nearly far enough. She wasn’t so naive as to think that Mr. Brindley’s vengeance would stop with Lalna.

The sound of pots clanking came from inside the trailer. Nano straightened from her slump on the front porch and leaned against the screen door, squinting in at the shape moving around the kitchenette. “Morning.”

“Hey,” came Sjin’s voice. “Want some eggs?”

“Has that pan been used for anything other than food?” Nano asked.

“I washed it,” Sjin said defensively.

Nano shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass.”

Sjin shrugged and went to the fridge. “You could take Sips’s truck and do a coffee run.”

She could use the change of scenery. “Sure,” she said, getting to her feet and stretching. Her spine popped. There were already rings of sweat under the arms of her black shirt.

After extracting a coffee order from Sips’s mostly comatose form, Nano got the keys and started up the truck. She felt near instant relief of her jitters as soon as she put her foot down on the accelerator. Tonight she’d sleep in the truck, she decided. The bench seat was nearly long enough to accommodate her. Thank god for short legs.

She drove past the gas station at the end of the street, unable to palate the idea of gas station coffee. There was a Cool Beans shop a ten minute drive away, according to her phone, so she set the GPS and cranked up the AC.

She’d just reached the lights before the freeway ramp when an orange Pegassi Vacca went blasting past her in the opposite direction, heading for the trailer park. Her stomach jolted. That was Lalna’s car! Sjin had said that Smiffy had taken it, which meant—

She fumbled to unlock her phone as she did a U-turn in the intersection, following the car.

“The Stunt Lads are headed your way,” she said as soon as Sjin answered. “I just saw them in Lalna’s car. Do they know where the trailer is?”

“I don’t know,” Sjin said. “I never told them.” There was a clattering in the background.

“There’s no other reason they’d be in Sandy Shores. Get your gun or get out of there. I don’t think they’re coming for a social visit.” Nano squeezed the phone between her ear and her shoulder, swinging the truck around a curve.

“Will do,” Sjin said, hanging up. Nano tossed the phone aside and concentrated on making it back to the trailer at the same time as the Vacca.

She pulled back onto the dusty street as the Vacca was parking in front of the trailer. Sjin was on the front porch with a shotgun braced against his shoulder, aiming at the Vacca’s windshield. Nano screeched to a stop behind the Vacca and drew her 9mm, sliding out of the truck.

Trott got out of the passenger’s seat of the Vacca, unarmed, his hands raised. Nano couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but she was certain Smiffy and Ross were in there, and they probably had guns aimed and waiting.

“Hey,” Trott said, his voice friendly. He gave Sjin a wry smile. “That’s no way to greet a business partner.”

“Call first next time,” Sjin said, not lowering the shotgun. “What do you want?”

“Can we talk?” Trott looked over his shoulder at Nano. “Just talk? With words?”

“Talk,” said Nano.

“Tell Smiffy to put down the rifle,” said Sjin. “And I’ll consider it.”

Trott glanced into the car. “Put it away, Smith,” he said.

“How about you put down your gun first?” Smiffy called out to Sjin.

“How about you three get out of the car where we can see you?” Nano suggested.

Ross slid out of the passenger’s side, raising his hands. He had a rifle on a strap across his chest. The three of them must have been crammed in the front there, since it was only a two passenger car. Or Trott was sitting on Ross’s lap. Nano didn’t really mind that mental image.

“Smiffy,” Nano said.

“Sjin first,” Smiffy said.

Sjin sighed and lowered the gun.

“Now you, fuck buddy,” Smiffy said.

“You can go fuck yourself,” Nano said.

“Smith,” Trott said again, a note of warning in his voice. After a pause, Smiffy swore and opened the driver’s side door violently. He got out, sniper rifle in hand but not aimed. Nano slowly lowered her gun.

“Good,” Sjin said. “Come on in. I was making eggs.”

“Great,” said Trott, his voice full of fake cheer.

There was a flicker of movement in the doorway behind Sjin. Nano squinted and saw Sips standing on the other side of the screen door. He lowered his gun. Smiffy’s shoulders stiffened and she knew he had seen it too.

Sjin opened the screen door and led the way into the house. The three Stunt Lads went in and Nano brought up the rear.

The trailer really wasn’t big enough for all of them. Smiffy made a gagging noise, covering his mouth.

“What?” Sjin said defensively. “It’s not that bad.”

“Christ, it’s a good thing no one pulled the trigger,” Trott said. “This thing would have gone up like the Hindenburg.”

Nano stood in the doorway, letting the screen door shut behind her. Sjin scraped eggs from the frying pan onto two plates, then cracked four more eggs into the pan. He raised his eyebrows at her and she grimaced, shaking her head.

“Where’s my coffee?” Sips asked, standing over the kitchen sink and scratching his belly. He filled a glass from the tap.

“I got interrupted,” Nano said.

“What brings you gents here?” Sjin asked the Stunt Lads, stirring the eggs in the pan.

Trott had sat down in a plastic chair. “We just wanted to talk to you about the tanks,” he said. “The ones that mysteriously went missing just hours after we dropped them off.”

“It wasn’t any of us,” Nano said. “Why would it be? We’d all get in trouble for it.”

“No one else knew they were there,” Trott said.

“Okay,” Nano said slowly. “What about the scrapyard operator? Maybe he noticed something weird?”

“This place is owned by YogLabs,” said Trott. “It’s just a front.”

“Maybe someone followed you.”

“Followed us?” said Smiffy. “What about you? You were the one who walked there from wherever the fuck.”

Nano shrugged helplessly. “Maybe someone did. I don’t know! I didn’t notice anyone, but I was pretty out of it.”

“Did you take the tanks?” spoke up Ross.

“What? No!” Nano waved her arms. “How strong do I look, Ross? How long do you think it would take me to drag those out of there and hide them somewhere?”

“Between you and Lalna?” Ross shrugged. “About as long as you two were missing.”

“I didn’t.”

“You don’t remember anything, though, do you?” Smiffy said. “Or so you say.”

“What would I get out of hiding them?” Nano exploded. “I think you guys would notice if Lalna and I suddenly became flux dealers out of the blue. Plus, I wasn’t even with Lalna for very long. I left him to find Sjin.”

“Sjin, with his pickup truck?” Smiffy said.

“What are you accusing me of?” Sjin said, dumping more eggs on a plate. He shoved a plate at Trott, who took it, looking a little suspicious.

“I’m just saying, if you were going to move tanks, a pickup truck is pretty useful.”

“Sjin, you didn’t tell me you were going to steal drugs,” Sips said. “I want in.”

“I didn’t steal the tanks,” Sjin insisted. “I didn’t even know they were gone until after I got back home.”

“So we all agree Lalna did it, then?” Ross said.

“No, we don’t agree to that!” Nano said. “The poor guy could barely stand up, his concussion was so bad. He couldn’t have moved the tanks.”

“You said yourself that you weren’t with Lalna for very long. Maybe he was faking the concussion. Maybe he went back to the scrapyard as soon as you left him,” Smiffy said.

“He wouldn’t,” Nano said.

“Do you know your fuck buddy that well?”

“He’s not—” Nano made a growl of annoyance. “What about you guys, huh? I see you making a lot of accusations but I haven’t heard what you did. Is your TV show that strapped for cash? Did you decide to make a career out of drug dealing instead? The three of you could move those tanks pretty easily.”

“I was the one who told Xephos where the tanks were,” Trott said. “I’m the contact person. Why would I put myself in danger?”

“Oh, sure, like you wouldn’t use that to divert suspicion.”

“If we had stolen those tanks, don’t you think we’d have skipped town by now?” Smiffy said.

“Same goes for any of us,” said Sjin. “The fact that we’re all standing here means that we didn’t steal it.”

“Except Lalna,” Ross said.

“Because he’s _in jail_ ,” Nano replied.

“Turning on us as we speak,” Smiffy added.

“If he was turning on us, we’d already have FIB agents knocking down our door,” said Nano. “He turned on Xephos. That’s it.”

“He rolled over for the FIB so fast that I wouldn’t put it past him to give us all up,” said Smiffy. “Depends on what kind of deal they offer him.”

“What if he hid the tanks as insurance in case he got arrested?” Ross suggested. “That way if the police got him, he’d have something to give them.”

“Enough,” said Sjin. “Let’s stop accusing each other of shit. None of us stole the tanks, so we have to find them.”

“It’s a big city,” said Smiffy.

“So we’d better start looking,” said Nano. “Or running, while Xephos is distracted.”

“He might be distracted, but his people aren’t,” Trott said grimly. “Turps and Strippin will track you down if you run. You’ll just be making yourself look more suspicious.”

“They won’t find me,” Nano scoffed.

“No? Who do you think told us where you were holed up?” Trott looked at her seriously. “Xephos knew about this little meth lab. What else do you think he knows about us?”

Nano’s stomach clenched. Her plan of escape had always been to flee over the border into Mexico, then catch a flight to Malaysia and lose herself among the locals there. But if Xephos knew about this meth lab, he probably knew about her family connections in Malaysia, so that plan was off the table.

“Running’s out, then,” Sjin said. “Where do we start looking for the tanks?”

“Anywhere?” Trott spread his hands. “We’ve searched the scrapyard top to bottom. They’re not there. If it really wasn’t any of us who stole them, I have no idea where to start looking.”

“Let’s head out of here and spread out,” Sjin said. “If any of us—” he shot a look at Nano, “—took the tanks on our own, they’ll be close by the scrapyard, so we’ll start there.”

“Guys,” said Sips. He was still standing at the sink, looking out the window. “We have company.”

Nano peered out the screen door. A car had pulled up behind Sips’s truck. It was an Ubermacht, shiny and steel gray.

“That’s them,” Trott said. “Turps and Strippin. You might want to hide, Nano.”

“Get in the closet,” Sjin said to Nano.

“What? No. Don’t you have a back door or something?” Nano looked around.

“This is a _trailer_ ,” Sjin said. “Get in the fucking closet.” He grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the bedroom. There was a small closet in there with a sliding door. It was mostly full of cardboard boxes marked HAZARDOUS MATERIALS - DO NOT INCINERATE. Nano climbed onto one of the boxes and tucked her legs under herself. Sjin pulled the door shut, leaving her in an ammonia-smelling darkness.

A loud knock came at the front door.

“Hey,” said Sips. “What can I do you for?”

“Great. The gang’s all here.” Nano didn’t recognize that voice. It had a lazy sort of drawl to it. “Can we come in for a chat?”

The Stunt Lads remained uneasily silent. The screen door screeched as it opened, and two sets of heavy footsteps came into the kitchen.

“Want some eggs?” Sjin offered pleasantly.

A pause, and then the first man said “No, I think I’m good. And I don’t think you have enough eggs for my mate here.”

“Shut up,” said the second person. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“I’m Turps,” the first man continued. “This is Strippin. These lads might have told you about us already.” A pause, like he was waiting for the Stunt Lads to say something, but they didn’t. “We work for Mr. Brindley.”

“Yeah?” said Sips. “Does that pay well?”

Turps seemed slightly taken off guard. “Uh, yeah. The pay is pretty good.”

“How about the hours?”

“Very decent hours. Plus time and a half on weekends.”

“Nice. Is he hiring?”

Turps regained control of the conversation. “No, but he has an offer for you. For all of you, actually. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Jones is turning state’s evidence on Mr. Brindley.”

“What a dick,” said Sips.

“Mr. Brindley has utmost confidence in his lawyers, but the fact of the matter is, Jones can’t be allowed to testify. I’m sure all of you understand why. It’s only a matter of time before the FIB convinces him to turn in all of you.” There was the scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor, and then the creak as someone sat down. “Jones is in protective custody in prison now, but I’m sure all of you have contacts. Mr. Brindley is offering three point five million dollars to the first person who brings him Lalna’s head.”

There was silence.

“Like… his actual head?” Sips said. “Or is that a metaphor?”

“It’s a metaphor. Just kill him. Make it look like a suicide, and make sure that it cannot get back to Mr. Brindley.” The chair creaked. “If you take out his girlfriend, or, you know, his mum or whatever, Mr. Brindley might toss some cash your way, too.”

Nano shifted uncomfortably on the box.

“How much cash are we talking?” Smiffy said.

“I don’t have a specific number, but I’d say a couple thousand,” Turps replied.

“Smith,” said Trott, a note of warning in his voice.

“ _Trott_ ,” Smiffy replied, mocking Trott’s tone. “How much was that lawsuit settlement we still need to pay off? A few thousand, right?”

“I think it was a hundred thousand,” Ross spoke up.

“It’s not worth it,” Trott said. “We’d make more money selling off Lalna’s Vacca.”

“I’m not selling that,” Smiffy said. “That’s a fucking quality car, all right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a _person_ , is it?” Trott snapped.

“Welp, it’s been fun,” said Turps. The chair scraped again. “Let me know if you have any information.”

“I have some information,” said Smiffy.

“No, you don’t,” said Trott loudly. “Fuck off, Smiffy.”

“She’s in the closet in the bedroom,” said Sips. “So how much money does that get me?”

Nano yanked the closet door open and launched herself off the boxes. The bedroom was small, taken up mostly by the mattress on the floor, and the windows were the kind that cranked halfway open to let in a breeze. Not big enough for the average person.

Luckily, Nano was smaller than the average person. She whipped her knife out of her pocket and popped the blade out, slashing at the screen.

A bullet smashed through the window next to her. Nano didn’t look back. She shoved her hands through the screen and then planted them on the outside of the trailer and pushed her body through the window head first, kicking her legs wildly. Popping out the window like a cork, she crashed to the sandy ground outside, then rolled and bounced up to her feet. 

“No shooting in the trailer!” Sjin shouted from somewhere inside, his voice a little frantic. Nano whipped around to see a tall man with a beard in the window—she couldn’t tell if it was Turps or Strippin—lower his gun and then turned for the bedroom door. He was going to try going around.

Nano pulled out her own gun and took aim.

She didn’t know what exactly was in the boxes in the closet, but anything marked HAZARDOUS MATERIALS - DO NOT INCINERATE seemed as good a target as any. She planted two bullets in the only box she could see from the window, then turned and sprinted for the fence.

The first explosion was small, just a whump of ignition. Someone in the house shouted. Nano vaulted over the chain link fence, into the neighbor’s yard. She still had the keys to Sips’s truck but she couldn’t go around to the front of the trailer without putting herself in harm’s way.

Then the second explosion hit.

The trailer went up like—well, as Trott had said earlier, like the Hindenburg. For a second Nano felt a flicker of guilt, hoping that the guys had had enough time to get clear of the trailer. Then she squashed that thought. Screw them. They’d tried to sell her out.

She ducked behind the neighbor’s trailer, then spotted a quad bike parked across the street. It wasn’t the greatest for dodging bullets in, but it would take her off-road better than that Ubermacht would. They wouldn’t be able to follow her.

She sprinted for the quad bike and hopped onto the seat. There were no keys in it, of course. She slid off the seat again, tucking herself down beside the quad bike so that its bulk shielded her from view of the exploded trailer. Then she set about trying to hotwire it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains brief, non-explicit references to the existence of prison rape, as well as scenes of someone experiencing dissociation. If this bothers you, go ahead and skip this chapter.
> 
> Also, you probably shouldn't use this chapter as a guide on how to make meth.

### Rythian

Friday was a slow day. The morning patrol with Zoey went without any incident, which was rare enough in Los Santos. They got back to the station with an hour to spare for paperwork. Rythian slouched at his desk, unwilling to face paperwork at the moment.

It was _so frustrating_. FIB had no right to give Lalna that deal. Fourteen soldiers were dead, and Lalna was just going to go free? It didn’t matter if Lalna was the one who pulled the trigger or not—he participated in the robbery, and that made him accountable. Maybe there was a shadowy boss that Lalna’s testimony could bring down, or maybe, more likely, Lalna had invented something in order to get immunity. It’s not like the FIB weren’t gagging for any sort of evidence that this Xephos Brindley of YogLabs was guilty of the commission of a crime. They would have believed it if Lalna told them Brindley had hired him to steal the moon. As long as it was admissible in court, they would let this murderer go free.

Rythian was beginning to think that there was no such thing as justice.

He fisted a hand in his hair and stared blankly at his desk. His only option now was to find something else that linked Lalna to the crime. The mask was out, but if he could find something else—

Had that been the only mask? The mental image of Lalna and Nano leaving Vespucci Movie Masks popped into his head. If they’d bought more than one mask there, or if they’d used Nano’s credit card, he could link her to the crime. Nano might be willing to cough up some evidence against Lalna for a reduced sentence.

Not only that, but Sjin was a known accomplice of Lalna. It was Friday. If he could find a sympathetic judge, he could get a warrant for Sjin’s place. He’d check out that Sips guy as well. It couldn’t hurt.

Feeling a little better, Rythian focused on his desk and picked up the first thing on the pile—a manila envelope. He opened the tab and dumped the contents onto his desk.

A handful of photographs spilled out, along with a piece of paper and a newspaper clipping. He picked up one of the photographs and froze.

The photo, taken with a telephoto lens, was of himself in his car, parked outside of Lalna’s apartment. The second one, of very low quality, was a car going through a red light, which suggested that the picture had been taken by a traffic camera. The license plate had been scribbled out with permanent marker. The date burned into the lower corner was the date of the bank robbery in Chumash.

The newspaper clipping was dated five years ago, and had the headline TWO SEVERELY INJURED IN CHUMASH ROBBERY.

Holy fuck. Was this evidence? Did the car in that photo belong to Sjin or Lalna? Which traffic camera had taken the photo? If it was anywhere near Chumash, that decimated their alibis.

He picked up the last photo. It was of Lalna, in handcuffs, being put into a prison intake van at the police station. That had only been taken last night. Someone had slashed a pen mark across Lalna’s face in the photo.

He put the three photos in a row on his desk, his eyes sliding from one to the next. Whoever had sent these knew that Rythian was keeping tabs on Lalna and Sjin. They seemed to know why, and they seemed to have evidence linking Sjin and Lalna to the crime. And while the photos didn’t spell out anything more than that, the intimation was clear. If Rythian wanted more evidence, all he had to do was make sure Lalna didn’t testify. It didn’t _have_ to be murder. He could just be really persuasive.

Of course, if Lalna rejected the plea deal and didn’t testify against Brindley, he’d go to prison for life anyway. The federal government probably wouldn’t then take him to trial again for the Chumash robbery. Still, Sjin was still at large, and Rythian felt a powerful need to have that evidence in his hands. Maybe if he had it he’d be able to sleep again.

Rythian gathered up the three photos and tucked them back into the envelope before anyone could see them. The photos hinted at another fact—if someone wanted Lalna disposed of, that meant Xephos was guilty. No need to get rid of Lalna if he wasn’t.

“Hey!” Zoey said, plonking her butt down on the edge of Rythian’s desk. “Why the sour face?”

Rythian flinched, then forced his expression to smooth. “Just thinking,” he said.

“Thinking about what to write for your LifeInvader bio? Don’t worry about that. I’ve set it up for you. You have eight friends already!”

“What—” Rythian stared at her, then clapped a hand over his face. “Zoey, no.”

“I said you were interested in both men and women because I can’t remember you ever dating anyone and I don’t think we ever actually talked about that. I can change it if you want. I won’t tell you the password until you promise not to delete it,” Zoey said. Her eyes dropped to the newspaper clipping on his desk and her cheerful expression slowly melted away. “Rythian,” she said, her voice much quieter.

He crumpled up the newspaper clipping in his fist and tossed it toward the trash bin. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“I know I keep saying this, but I think if you just talked with someone about this—” she started.

“I’ve talked with you about it!” he exploded. “It didn’t help.”

“I meant a professional,” she said.

“No,” he said firmly. “Look, it was just—I just found that. On my desk. It doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

“Nothing at all with Lalna being put in jail,” Zoey said.

“Nothing,” Rythian said firmly. He looked down at the manila envelope. It didn’t have a return address on it, he noticed. It hadn’t been mailed. “Did you see who delivered this to my desk?”

Zoey shook her head. “I’ve been out with you all day, remember?”

There was no reason to think this was the only envelope that had gone out. If someone really wanted Lalna dead, they wouldn’t just rely on one morally compromised cop to do the deed. They’d ask a few people.

That meant Lalna’s life was in danger right now. A dead Lalna was one who wouldn’t face justice.

Plus, a traitorous voice in his head whispered, if someone else got to Lalna first, Rythian would never get the evidence to put Sjin in jail.

He pushed back his chair, then leaned over and picked up the newspaper clipping. He smoothed it out on his desk and then handed it and the manila envelope to Zoey.

“Look at that,” he said. “I need to contact the FIB.”

* * *

  


### Lalna

Protective custody for a material witness meant solitary confinement in Bolingbroke Penitentiary. To Lalna’s knee-shaking relief, that meant he didn’t have to spend any time at all in the general population, to keep him out of the clutches of any hitmen Xephos might send. After he was processed, the prison guards brought him straight to his own little cell and shut the door, and there he was. If he wasn’t careful, his mind would drift to the prison full of several thousand inmates just a few hallways away, and he would start to feel a deep, clutching terror in his chest. It was like when he was on a plane and suddenly thought of the drop below him. Best not to think of it.

They’d told him that the trial should start within six months. Given that he was considered a flight risk, he wasn’t going to be let out of police custody until he had testified. The cell was so small he could touch both walls at the same time. The bed was a concrete slab with a thin mattress on top. There was a toilet with no seat, but nothing else in the cell. The door had a small slot in it for a meal tray, but no window.

If the night in the county jail had been hard, this one was much worse. At least the bed there had been more yielding. He lay on his back on the mattress and stared at a crack in the concrete ceiling and ignored the ache in his fingers and the side of his skull.

He’d spent some time in solitary during his last stint in prison. Being a first time offender—especially white, especially with long blond hair, especially when he was only seventeen at the time—made him a target in prison, and sometimes the only way to avoid the constant predation was to get himself in enough trouble that they’d toss him in solitary for a week at a time or more. He could joke that he was too pretty for prison, but the truth of the matter was, the inmates would fuck anyone who stood still long enough. Fighting back might get him some breathing room, but it might also tack on another couple years to his sentence if he caused another inmate bodily harm, especially if he used a weapon. Sure, he could request protective custody for his own safety, but common knowledge held that PC was for gays and pedophiles, and both of those labels were akin to death sentences in prison. PC would just paint a bigger target on his back, and protective custody didn’t last forever.

So there were two options. He could get on his knees for another inmate, one who had enough pull to protect him from the other guys up until he got bored and sold him to someone else for a pack of cigarettes. Or he could get in a shoving match in front of a guard and let himself be tossed in solitary for a few days, killing his chances of early parole but keeping himself from further harm, at least for a little while.

Rinse and repeat for four years.

The trick was to force his mind to focus on something technical. Last time he’d been in prison, it had been a car. He had built that car from the tires up, piece by piece, in his head. When things got tedious or difficult to face—the only two states of existence in prison—he would just focus on replacing the timing belt and checking the oil levels and taking apart the catalytic converter, and everything going on around him would just fade away into the background. It worked, more or less, although when he’d gotten out of prison and tried to get his old mechanic job back, he’d had a panic attack the first time he’d had to pop open the hood of a car. It was weird, the way the mind worked. He hadn’t touched a car since, except to buy one and pay for someone else to maintain it.

This time… well, he’d choose one of his weapons to reconstruct, but he didn’t want to lose the ability to handle guns once he got out of here. Maybe he could try remembering how to cook meth. He’d learned enough of that by osmosis through Sips and Sjin. _First you dissolve cold medicine in a solvent like turpentine to separate the pseudoephedrine from the pill._

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he was jolted back to consciousness by the sound of a food tray sliding into the slot. It must be morning. The tray clanged shut before he could see anyone on the other side. It had a single sausage patty, unnaturally circular, and two hard boiled eggs with green, overcooked yolks.

He dragged himself off the bed and retrieved the tray, then ate it while sitting on the floor next to the door. The three meals a day were going to be pretty much the highlight of his life for a long time, so he tried to savor each gristly bite of sausage.

The next six months were going to be _great._

He wondered what Nano was up to. He hoped she’d run for the border. That had always been the plan. Whoever falls behind gets left behind, as Nano liked to quote at him all the time. They’d made a pact to never turn on each other, but never to expect rescue. That was just how the world worked. Just like in prison, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. There was no shame in it.

Finished with breakfast, he pushed the tray back to the door and started to pace the floor again. Pacing was better than sitting.

_Dip match boxes in nail polish remover to separate the red phosphorous from the adhesive, then scrape it off. Let the acetone evaporate and let the red phosphorous dry. Mix the red phosphorous with the pure pseudoephedrine and some hydrogen iodide. Heat it up so the chemical reaction produces iodoephedrine._

A clanging came from the hallway. Lalna jumped. He’d lost track of time. Was it lunch time already? Couldn’t be. Maybe they were going to give him his hour of yard time now. They usually did it on a staggered schedule so none of the prisoners in solitary were out at the same time.

The door to his cell ground open. A prison guard stood outside it.

“Yard time,” he said, sounding bored. “Turn around.”

Lalna obediently turned. The guard cuffed him and guided him out of the cell with one hand on his shoulder. They walked down the hall, past a dozen more cell doors that had nothing but tray slots in them. He didn’t know if anyone else was in solitary. That was kind of the point of solitary, really.

The next door opened with automatic locks. They turned down another hallway. The set of doors at the end let in sunlight, and then they were out in the solitary yard. Like everything else, it was made of concrete, and was smaller than a tennis court. The guard uncuffed him, then disappeared back inside the building, letting him wander around by himself. The sky was cloudless and almost artificially blue. For all he knew, it was painted on a dome over his head.

Six months. That was about a hundred and eighty days, assuming the trial started on time. A hundred and seventy-nine, now.

_Filter out the red phosphorous to use later. Add lye to the mixture to neutralize the acid. Bubble hydrogen chloride gas through the liquid meth so it makes hydrochloride salt. Filter out the salt and let dry._

The door to the yard opened and a guard came out. Not the same one as before. He nodded to Lalna.

“Catch,” he said, tossing something at him.

Lalna fumbled it with his good hand, but didn’t drop it. He stared at it. It was a toothbrush shiv, scraped and filed down to be lethally sharp.

“Um—?” he said.

“Drop the weapon,” the guard shouted, and then the two darts of the taser hit him in the chest. Lalna dropped to the ground like a bag of rocks at the first jolt. Every muscle in his body strained and his tongue pressed itself against the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t make his lungs work. He fixed his gaze on the blue sky.

_If you_

_If you want to make meth more quickly_

The charge stopped and he collapsed, sucking in a whoop of air. He barely had a second before the guard tased him again. He could feel all his fingers clenching, even the broken ones, but he had no control over them.

_dump the pseudoephedrine in a soda bottle_

He dropped again. The door to the yard opened and the first guard came out. Lalna turned his head to blink at him blearily, then jerked taut again with the next pulse.

_with some fertilizer_

_water_

“How bad do you think his heart is?” asked the guard tasing him.

“Dunno. He’s pretty young,” said the other one. “I don’t think you can rely on it giving out.”

_lighter fluid_

_and lithium batteries_

The first guard shrugged. “It would have made this simpler.” He stopped pulling the trigger and Lalna went limp, all of his muscles going loose. The guard strode toward him, holstering his taser, and knelt down next to him. Lalna willed his fingers to reach up for the taser, or to push himself away, but he couldn’t force his muscles to work.

_mix well and_

The guard gripped Lalna’s head, feeling for the bandage on the side of his skull.

_release the pressure_

“There it is,” he said, sounding pleased. Holding Lalna’s head in both his hands, he grinned down at him. Lalna half expected the man to say “Xephos sends his regards,” but instead the man just slammed Lalna’s head into the cement. Sparks flared across his vision.

_often or el_

_se the solu_

His head slammed into the cement again.

_tion migh_

_t explo_

_d_

_e_


	9. Chapter 9

### Zoey

The phone vibrated on the side table, dancing itself over the edge and bouncing on the carpet.

“Ignore it,” Zoey mumbled against Fiona’s lips. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s probably work,” Fiona replied. 

“Yeah, exactly. Nothing important. You should keep kissing me.” Zoey head-butted Fiona gently.

“I don’t know.” Fiona kissed her on the nose and then started to disentangle herself. “I think your job is kind of important.”

“I’m off duty,” Zoey mumbled. “Don’t pick it up. Come on.”

Fiona leaned over the side of the bed and picked up the phone, which had just stopped vibrating. “It was Rythian.”

“He probably wants help buying a mattress or something. Ignore it.”

Fiona held out the phone to Zoey, who pulled a pillow over her head. The phone beeped to indicated a voicemail.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Zoey added.

Barely a second later, the voicemail started playing on speaker phone. “Zoey, it’s me,” said Rythian. “We have a problem.”

“Nooooo,” Zoey moaned, clamping the pillow more tightly over her ears. “It’s Saturday and I have three whole days off work.”

“Someone tried to kill Jones in prison,” Rythian’s voice continued relentlessly. “He’s in the prison hospital right now, but the FIB doesn’t think it’s a good idea to keep him in protective custody there. They want to move him to a safe house and keep him under police surveillance.” Rythian coughed uncomfortably. “So I volunteered us. Call me back.”

“Rythian, no,” Zoey said out loud. “Bad Rythian.”

“He can’t hear you,” Fiona said dryly. “This is a voicemail.”

“I know.” Zoey pulled the pillow off her face and held out her hand. “Give me the phone.”

She called Rythian back while Fiona made breakfast. By the time she had showered, dressed, and devoured Fiona’s eggs Benedict—she’d only moved in with her girlfriend a month ago and she’d already gained five pounds—Rythian was pulled up to the curb in front of their apartment in his Vapid Stanier.

“Morning,” Rythian said. He waved vaguely at the two Cool Beans coffees in the cupholders. “Got you a mocha.”

“So I updated your LifeInvader profile,” Zoey replied. “I put your relationship status as ‘under litigation’” because holy crap, Rythian. There’s stalking and then there’s… whatever this is.”

He grimaced at her as he pulled away from the curb. “Why do you keep making this sexual?”

“Because of the massive rage boner you get every time you think about Lalna or Sjin.”

“Zoey,” Rythian said. “That’s _not_ what this is.”

“What?” Zoey tried not to laugh at his expression, buckling her seatbelt. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” Rythian said. “Look, _whatever my motivation_ , I’m not going to let some asshole kill Jones in prison. You know that.”

Zoey picked up the mocha and took a sip of it. It was hot and extra chocolatey, just the way she liked it. She decided to forgive Rythian. For now. Probably. “I know. So what does this involve? I’ve never been on safe house duty before.”

“FIB will send us the address of a place to house him. Several places, actually. We’ll have to move him around. We’ll work out a schedule to make sure one of us is with him at all times, to keep him from fleeing and to keep anyone from killing him.”

“For how long?” Zoey said doubtfully.

“Six months, but it won’t just be us two. The FIB is trying to locate other officers who probably can’t be bribed by Brindley.”

“Probably?”

He shrugged at her. “It’s never a sure thing, is it?”

“And if…” Zoey pondered her mocha for a moment. “And if he doesn’t make it to court to testify… and you’re one of the cops in charge of his safety…”

“I’m not doing this because of that envelope,” Rythian said. “Jones will testify against Brindley.”

Zoey studied his face. “Okay,” she said noncommittally.

“I told you about the envelope as soon as I got it,” he added, sounding a little disgruntled. “And you’ll be there with me, making sure he makes it to court.”

“I said okay.”

He shot her a suspicious look before looking back out the windshield. “Okay.”

The drive out to the penitentiary was easier before noon on a Saturday, when the traffic hadn’t had a chance to pick up yet. The sun was blazing down, almost stronger than the AC in the car. The prison was out in the desert, a gunmetal gray monstrosity in the middle of flat, dusty land. The guard at the first gate let them through to the parking lot. The FIB agents that they’d met a few days ago were waiting inside the prison warden’s office.

“Detectives,” Agent Angor said. “Thanks for taking this on.”

“Any time,” Zoey said easily. “We’re so generous with our time, it’s crazy. We’re like Gandhi, if he was really…generous with his time. I’ll stop now.”

“They’re discharging Jones now,” Angor said, completely ignoring her babbling. “You should be able to take him in an hour or so.”

“Take him where?” Rythian asked.

One of the other agents held out an envelope to Angor, who took it and passed it along to Rythian. “That’s the location of the first safe house.”

“Was he badly hurt?” Zoey said. “What did they do to him?”

Angor glanced at the prison warden, who was sitting at his desk, looking mulish.

“My guards say he went at one of them with a shiv and they were forced to taser him. He hit his head on the ground,” said the warden.

“Eight times,” Angor chimed in.

“He bounced,” the warden snapped. “It wasn’t an assassination attempt, no matter what you people say. My guards are trustworthy.”

“How bad was he hurt?” Zoey asked.

“He was lucky,” Angor said. “He’s had multiple severe concussions in three days. If he was going to drop dead, he’d have done it by now, so he’ll probably pull through. He might have brain damage, but as long as he remembers his testimony…” Angor caught Zoey’s expression and cleared his throat. “Anyway, the doctor authorized his discharge.”

Zoey looked at Rythian, who was frowning. He looked as unhappy with this as she felt. She wondered if he regretted volunteering for this yet.

“Should the doctor be discharging him so soon?” Rythian asked.

“It’ll be fine.” Angor’s phone trilled and he glanced at it. “Perfect timing! They’re bringing him out now.”

  


* * *

### Rythian

Two Bolingbroke prison guards were waiting at Rythian’s car with Lalna when Rythian and Zoey returned to it. Still dressed in the orange prison jumpsuit, with his hands cuffed in front of him, Lalna slouched against the car, head hanging, looking like the only thing keeping him standing was one of the guard’s hand around his arm. Maybe the guards wanted to prove that Lalna wasn’t as injured as the reports claimed. If so, it wasn’t working. They’d affixed an ankle monitor to him so that once at the safe house, Lalna wouldn’t be able to flee, assuming he was capable.

The two other FIB agents were also waiting there. One of them tossed a clear plastic pouch at Rythian as he approached. Rythian caught it and glanced at it. It contained all the possessions Lalna had had on him when he was arrested, minus the firearm and bulletproof vest. There were some bloody clothes, a pair of flip flops, and a pair of sunglasses in it.

“He’s all yours,” said one of the FIB agents. “Good fuckin’ luck.”

“If you let him kick it, it’s all on you,” said the other agent.

“Thanks,” Zoey said. “We really appreciate your support in these trying times.” She held out her hand to Rythian, who tossed her the keys. She unlocked the car and one of the guards pulled open the back door, guiding Lalna in.

Lalna had a fresh bandage around his head, similar to the one he’d had when Rythian had interrogated him. His face was still scratched and bruised from whatever injuries he’d gotten before Rythian had arrested him. Once they’d shut the door, he slumped against the window with a pained groan, one hand clamped over his eyes, the broken one dangling from the cuff. He didn’t move when Zoey got into the car. 

Rythian circled the car and got in the passenger’s seat, buckling his belt with a careful click. This was different from when he’d put Lalna in the back of his car before. Then, he was triumphant. He had been certain that Lalna was going to get what he deserved. Now, he had to protect the son of a bitch from assassins in order to make sure that Lalna never saw punishment for his crimes. He’d chosen this duty for himself, of course, but he hated the fact that it was necessary in the first place.

Or, whispered a voice in his head, he could persuade Lalna not to testify, and put him in jail for the rest of his natural life.

There was a certain appeal to that thought.

Zoey twisted around in her seat, studying Lalna. “So how brain damaged are you?” she asked. Rythian glanced over his shoulder too.

Lalna shrugged very gingerly, not shifting his hand. “I wouldn’t know, would I?” he mumbled. Well, at least he could talk.

Zoey turned to Rythian. “Where are we headed? Look at the paper.”

Rythian ripped open the envelope Angor had given him. The handwritten paper inside had the address of a place somewhere west of the Grand Senora Desert, south of the Alamo Sea, in Harmony.

“Harmony, right between weed country and meth country,” he said. “I hope that means a farm house and not a trailer.”

“Aw, a farm house would be nice,” Zoey said. The security gate opened for their car. “We could milk cows and raise chickens.”

Rythian gave her a look. She grinned at him, then glanced in the rearview mirror. “Lalna, have you ever raised chickens?”

A long pause, and then his hand shifted slightly, resettling over his eyes. “No,” he said.

“Are you a city boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

There was another long pause. Rythian wondered whether Lalna was coming up with a lie. “Liberty City,” Lalna said finally, his voice a monotone.

“What brought you all the way out here to little old Los Santos? Did you have a dream of being a Vinewood star? Have you written a screenplay?”

“The earthquakes,” Lalna said. “I love earthquakes.”

Zoey laughed. They were heading west on Rt 68 now, skirting the Grand Senora Desert. The quickest way to Harmony was straight down the highway, through the dusty, empty landscape.

“It’s a beautiful day out,” Zoey said, rolling down her window. Hot air rushed in, ruffling her hair. As they passed around a curve, sunlight spilled over them.

“Too bright,” groaned Lalna, hunching in his seat. Rythian glanced down at the plastic bag of Lalna’s effects that was sitting at his feet. The sunglasses were right there against the plastic. He put his foot over the bag and pressed down until he heard the glasses crack.

“I’m going to need more specific directions,” Zoey said.

Rythian plugged the address into his phone and read off the directions as they climbed elevation into the farmland. There was nothing idyllic about the farmland in San Andreas. The grass was yellow and patchy. The buildings were made of corrugated iron, streaked with rust. With every passing feedlot, Rythian felt their chances of a decent safehouse drying up.

His phone’s GPS brought them at last to their destination: a tiny detached house that had seen better days. Those days had probably been in the early forties, if Rythian had to take a guess. A fat red propane tank sat on one side of the house. A small galvanized metal backyard windmill creaked in the wind. It sat on a yellowing hill, a hundred yards from its nearest neighbor. Mount Chilliad stood, blue and hazy, in the distance.

“Well this is… definitely something,” Zoey said, pulling up into the driveway and parking next to the house. “Did they give you keys or are we going to have to break in?”

Rythian shook a single key out of the envelope. “We’ll have to get a second one made,” he said, sliding out of the car.

The side door was made of dented aluminum, with a tattered screen. It screeched when Rythian opened it. The storm door opened at his key and he pushed it open, then turned back as Zoey opened the back door for Lalna. Lalna got out slowly under Zoey’s watchful gaze.

“Don’t even think about running,” Rythian said, standing in the doorway. “You’re better off here in protective custody than you’d be out on your own. There’s a price on your head now and don’t pretend your criminal friends are too noble to want to cash in on it.”

“I don’t think anyone’s too noble for that,” Lalna said, squinting up at Rythian.

“If Zoey and I wanted the reward, you’d be dead by now,” Rythian said.

“No I wouldn’t,” Lalna said. “You couldn’t try to kill me immediately after someone tried in Bolingbroke. That would be too obvious.”

“We don’t want you dead, Jones,” said Zoey, giving Lalna a nudge toward the house. She briefly met Rythian’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.

Rythian remained silent. He turned and stepped into the house and held open the door as Lalna and Zoey came in.

They were in a small, dank kitchen. It looked like the kind of house someone might die in and not be found until the bank foreclosed on it. The worn linoleum floors were avocado green, and where they were peeling up, there was nothing but plywood underneath. The wallpaper, a mustard yellow with brown flowers, was fragmenting around the window where there had been water damage. The tiny window was cloudy with seventy years of accumulated dust.

Rythian moved into the living room, which had wood panel walls and an old television in the corner. The couch sagged so low that the middle seat nearly touched the floor. The front door, at least, was steel, and there was a burglar alarm set into the wall next to it, incongruously modern.

“Smells like my grandmother’s house in here,” said Zoey. Rythian glanced over his shoulder and saw her unlocking Lalna’s handcuffs. He wanted to protest, but they really couldn’t keep Lalna chained to a radiator the whole time they were staying in this safe house. He was technically not a criminal, and the ankle monitor was going to have to be the extent of his restraints.

Lalna rubbed at his wrists. “Do you have other clothes for me? I didn’t really get to pack.”

“They gave you his stuff at the prison, right?” Zoey said to Rythian.

Rythian frowned at them, then headed back out to the car. He got the bag of personal effects from the front seat and brought it back in. Zoey was climbing the creaking stairs to the bedroom. Lalna had sunk down into the couch.

“Here.” Rythian tossed the bag at the couch. It hit the cushion next to Lalna, who picked it up.

“These are covered in blood,” Lalna said. “And I’m not wearing these for six months straight.”

“There’s a sink over there. Use cold water to get out bloodstains.” Rythian pointed toward the kitchen and crossed his arms over his chest, standing stiffly by the front door. The window here was covered in broken Venetian blinds that gave him a partial view of the hill and the street. It was empty out there.

“Fuck off,” said Lalna.

Zoey came clomping back down the stairs. “I hope the FIB doesn’t get offended when I sleep in your car.”

“Is it that bad?” Rythian said. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Your sofa bed looks like heaven compared to that mess upstairs.”

“Are you both staying here?” Lalna asked, gripping the bag of clothes against his chest.

“We’ll stay in shifts,” Zoey said, moving over to the armchair and nudging it with her toe. Dust puffed off the cushion. “Plus there will be other people once the FIB vets them for safety.”

Lalna looked dubious. “For the next six months?”

“Or whenever the trial starts,” Zoey confirmed. “Oh man, I don’t want to have to clean this place. That’s not in my job description.”

Lalna looked around the room with a faint look of dismay. “And I can’t leave the house?”

“Nope. Sorry!”

“You cannot contact anyone,” Rythian said, his arms still crossed over his chest. “Not your girlfriend, not your mom, not your old landlord. No one. If you do, you will die. Understand?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lalna said automatically. “And yeah, I get it, but—”

“No buts,” Zoey said. “No checking old email accounts. No Netflix. You won’t be able to access your bank account. If you need anything, you have to ask one of us.”

“Wait, no _Netflix_?”

“Nothing that might have location services enabled,” Rythian said. “Nothing that can be traced to your IP address or any nearby cell phone towers. I don’t think they have internet out here anyway.”

“You have more freedom than you would have in solitary,” Zoey said gently.

“Yeah, and more flea bites,” Lalna said. “At least there I didn’t have to worry about _tetanus_.”

“No one’s going to kill you here. And honestly, if they try, you have a better chance of escaping,” Zoey said. “This is all for your own good. We want you to survive.”

“You killed fourteen people,” Rythian added sharply before he could stop himself. “This is far better than you deserve.”

Lalna looked up at him. “I didn’t kill all those people.”

“No? Who did?”

Lalna shook his head mutely.

“Well you participated,” Rythian said. “I don’t care if you were hired to do it. Because of you and your friends, fourteen soldiers won’t be making it home to their families, and you won’t spent more than two fucking days in jail for it.”

“Glad I have you here to make sure I stay safe,” Lalna said. Rythian felt his fists clenching, so he shoved them in his pockets and glanced at Zoey.

“Go check out upstairs,” Zoey said to him, too much understanding in her gaze. “I’ve got dibs on the backseat of your car.”

Rythian nodded and headed for the stairs. He wanted to punch Lalna, but that wasn’t a great idea right now. Certainly not while Zoey was there as a witness.

The stairs felt soft and rotten under his weight. He trod carefully. At the landing, a door to the left led into a tiny cramped bedroom with two twin beds. The roof sloped sharply here, making only the middle of the room tall enough for Rythian to stand up straight. It smelled like mildew, of linens too long left damp.

The door to the right led to what would probably be called a master bedroom in a different house. Here it was just a double bed pushed up under the solitary window. The room was barely wide enough to give a foot of clearance around the bed. A bare bulb hung down from the middle of the ceiling. Rythian inhaled and felt dust coat the back of his throat.

He has six months of dividing his time between this safe house and his apartment. Six months of having the target of his obsession under the same roof. Six months of trying not to _murder the bastard_.

“This is going to be fine,” he said aloud to himself, and tried to believe it.


	10. Chapter 10

### Nano

Nano’s weapons cache was at a storage locker in East Los Santos. One of them was, at least; she had a few caches around the city in case of emergency. This was the one that Lalna didn’t know about, just in case he’d been blabbing to the police about her. She couldn’t be sure that Xephos didn’t know about this one, but since she’d had this one long before she’d met Lalna, and hadn’t touched it in years, she figured it was the safest bet.

She couldn’t remember the combination, but she had a pair of stolen bolt cutters that took the lock right off. Pulling the door open, Nano squinted into the gloom.

It was kind of like opening an unexpected birthday present, or maybe a time capsule. Cardboard boxes were piled in the center of the room, and an old bicycle was propped against the wall. The boxes were dusty, but when she cut the first one open, the semi-automatic inside looked glossy and new, nestled in a bed of newspaper. She moved to the next box.

She didn’t have a solid plan of what she was going to do next. Revenge was a very valid option. Sips had sold her out at the first sign of a reward, and the Stunt Lads would have done it if he hadn’t. Not to mention Brindley’s two goons, who were only targeting her because they thought she was Lalna’s girlfriend. If she was going to have hitmen after her, she wanted it to be because of something she’d done, not her asshole roommate.

The second box had ammo in it, and a third had some old pieces of body armor. Nano took the semi-automatic out and sat on the floor of the storage locker, taking it apart. It had been a while since she’d last touched this one, but she took care of her guns, so it was in good condition. She spent a few minutes imagining putting a bullet in Sips’s head.

“Whoever falls behind gets left behind,” Nano said out loud. That was her motto, and Lalna had generally agreed. He wasn’t going to expect her help. It was his own fault that he was even in jail right now. If he hadn’t dropped that mask…

She was going to miss his dumb face and his stupid laugh and his annoying tendency to take apart the water heater at one a.m. and not put it back together again until Nano shouted at him about the cold shower. Or maybe not miss him exactly, but, you know. Notice his absence.

There was a sound outside the storage locker and Nano’s head jerked up. She froze, holding the half-assembled gun.

A woman walked past the open door of the locker, heading for another locker. Nano waited a moment, then relaxed. She really should be more careful, she thought. 

Forget revenge. It was tempting, but it was only a distraction right now. The number one most important thing to do was to find those tanks before anyone else did. With the tanks, she’d have bargaining power. She could get Brindley’s goons off her back, probably. It would get the others off her as well. Or she could fence them and flee the country with the proceeds. Perhaps she could hole up in South America. She’d lived in Columbia once. She spoke Spanish. She’d be fine. Probably.

Nano spent the next hour checking through all of her gear and getting herself ready. She put the weapons in a bag and wheeled the bicycle out of the locker. There was nothing else of value in here, which was good because she’d mutilated the combination lock. Hoisting the bag over her shoulder, she got on the bike and headed back up to Little Seoul.

She and Lalna had shared a dingy little apartment in Little Seoul, on the fourth floor of a place called, appealingly, the Hoard House. She knew better than to go back to that, or even get too close to it, but the neighborhood there had a lot of useful contacts. If someone had taken the tanks from the scrap yard and was boasting about it, someone in Little Seoul would know about it. Ditto if there had been any changes to the flux market. It was possible that Brindley’s goons had already checked out her contacts in the area, but Nano had a feeling that neither of them could speak Mandarin, and that would have cut them off from all the best information. Los Santos didn’t have a Chinatown or Little Japan, so Little Seoul was the catch-all for every Asian immigrant in the city.

There was a Chinese food place a couple blocks from the apartment. Nano wheeled her bicycle through the front doors and parked it just inside the door, out of the way of foot traffic. The girl behind the cash register frowned at her, then grinned when she recognized Nano.

“Hello!” the girl said in English. Then, in Mandarin, she said, “The usual?”

“Please,” Nano said. It was empty in here, not surprising for three in the afternoon. She took a seat at a table right next to the register. “Is Lao Xiùlán around?”

The girl nodded and then leaned away from the counter, shouting into the kitchen. After a moment, an elderly woman appeared. She shooed the girl away and leaned heavily on the counter, giving Nano a sour look. The girl disappeared into the kitchen to start Nano’s order.

“What are you doing here?” Xiùlán asked. “You should know better than to come back to this neighborhood so soon.”

It figured that she would already know what was going on with Nano. “I know, I know,” Nano said. “I need some information.”

“You could text.” The old woman pulled her iPhone out of her pocket and waved it around briefly.

Nano grinned. “But then I wouldn’t get to eat your amazing food.”

Xiùlán snorted but came around the corner and eased herself down in the seat opposite Nano. “What information are you looking for?” Nano glanced toward the kitchen, where the sound of pans clattered. Xiùlán waved a hand dismissively. “She can’t hear you in there.”

Nano took a deep breath. “You hear about the PHLX-2 heist on Del Perro?”

Xiùlán arched an eyebrow. “Who hasn’t?”

“I want to know where the tanks are now. Has anyone been talking about wanting to sell them off? Or have you heard anything about the flux market?”

“Shouldn’t you already know where they are?”

Nano chewed her lower lip. “I should,” she admitted. “But I don’t. They’ve gone missing.”

“I heard that people were looking for the tanks, and that you were involved.” Xiùlán rubbed at the handful of bristly gray hairs on her chin. “I assumed you’d taken them.”

“I haven’t,” Nano insisted.

“Fine, fine. I believe you.” Xiùlán rocked back in her chair. “No, I haven’t heard anything about the tanks. People like to boast, and I haven’t heard anything of the sort yet. What about the other people on your team?”

Nano shrugged helplessly. “They’re as screwed as I am if the tanks remain missing. I honestly don’t think they have them. But someone had to know our plans, so the thief had to have inside information.”

“Language,” Xiùlán chided.

Nano winced. “Sorry.” She shook her head. “Maybe whoever took it is laying low for a while until people stop looking? I guess that’s what I’d do.”

The girl came back out of the kitchen with a styrofoam box of chicken lo mein and pork dumplings. Nano and Xiùlán waited until the girl had retreated back into the kitchen before Xiùlán said,

“Have you talked to your roommate? I heard someone tried to kill him yesterday.”

Nano choked on her first bite of lo mein. “He what? Who told you that?”

Xiùlán indicated her phone again. “I have sources, and I like to keep track of my neighbors.”

“Is he okay? What happened?”

Xiùlán shrugged. “He’s alive, as far as I know. They’ve moved him somewhere else. Even I don’t know where. Be careful, though. People are going to target you because you know him.”

“I know,” Nano grumbled. “They already have. I can take care of myself.”

The door jingled as a customer came in to make an order. Xiùlán got up to serve him. Nano took advantage of the pause to dig into the food again. She was starving. She hadn’t had much today beyond a cup of coffee this morning. By the time the man had collected his order and left, Nano was comfortably full and her lunch was gone. Xiùlán returned to her table, dusting off her hands.

“I see the stress hasn’t affected your appetite,” Xiùlán said, sitting down.

“I’ve barely eaten in days,” Nano groaned. “I was exposed to some of the PHLX-2 during the—well, you know—and I’ve been pretty nauseous ever since. I guess it’s worn off by now.”

Xiùlán looked concerned. “That stuff is dangerous. I can have someone take a look at you if you want.”

“No, I’m fine.” Nano neatly piled her trash inside the styrofoam container and closed it. “It was terrible on Wednesday but it’s just about gone now.”

“The physical side effects pass quickly, but the mental ones can last for weeks.”

“Mental ones?” Nano said dubiously. “Don’t worry, I haven’t felt like eating anyone’s face. I’ll let you know if I do.”

“My nephew is getting over a flux addiction. He said it was like being brainwashed. That’s why the government made it, you know. Once you’re exposed to it, you’re very suggestible.”

“I’m fine,” Nano insisted, pushing back her chair. “Thank you so much, Xiùlán.”

“Text me next time,” Xiùlán said. “And please, see a doctor. Or you could talk to my nephew! I could give you his number.” She winked. “He’s single.”

“No,” Nano said firmly. “Thank you.” She got to her feet and stuffed her trash into the bin by the door, then rescued her bike from the corner. “See you later.”

“Good luck,” Xiùlán said.

Nano pushed the door open, thinking back to the heist as she wheeled her bike onto the sidewalk. There had been mental side effects to the flux, but nothing she’d describe as brain washing. Instead it had been like getting electric shocks inside her skull, and losing track of time, and forgetting what she was doing.

(And talking to Mother.)

Nano shook her head convulsively to dispel the memory. Sure, the idea behind the flux was to make protestors do whatever you told them, but no one had really been telling her what to do when she’d been exposed to it. She and Lalna had just ran for Ross’s car. Then they’d jumped out of it, but no one had told her to do that either. It had just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Otherwise no one had said anything—

( _Hide_ , said Mother.)

—anything really memorable. It had been such a mess at that point that all Nano could remember was everyone panicking at getting out of there. Ross had been telling people over the radio that she and Lalna had breathed in too much of the flux. He’d told Sjin and the others to forget the last tank and just run for it. He’d said…

_He’d said they had to hide the tanks._

When she closed her eyes, she could almost picture the scene. Ross, screaming into the radio. Sirens behind them. The car tires squealing as they took a corner too fast. “We have to hide the tanks!”

( _Hide_ , said Mother.)

“Oh Jesus effing Christ,” Nano said out loud, planting her face in her hands. Her drugged brain had taken that as an order. _She and Lalna had hid the tanks._

* * *

### Zoey

Late afternoon at the safe house was like sitting inside of an oven. The sun had been baking the front of the house all day, and as it shifted west and sank toward the horizon, it started squeezing in through the windows. Zoey opened the front door and all the windows to get a breeze going.

Rythian had left in the car to go pick up some clothes for Lalna and linens for the beds. While he was gone, Lalna and Zoey stripped the dusty, mildewy sheets off all the beds. Every time they thought of something else they’d need, Zoey would send off a text to Rythian’s phone.

“Squishy pillows,” Zoey said out loud as she typed, standing in the middle of the bedroom. “Cereal. That powdered coffee creamer stuff. Coffee. Maybe a coffee maker?”

“A fan,” said Lalna, bundling up sheets and tossing them to the floor. He was perfectly civil with her. More than civil; Lalna appeared to be cheerfully friendly to everyone, even Rythian, despite the latter’s obvious blood feud.

“A fan,” Zoey repeated, typing that in. “Popsicles. We’d have to eat those immediately though.” She raised her head and stared into the middle distance, imagining having a whole box to herself. “Mm, popsicles.” She pulled her shirt away from her chest to let some air in. “Oh gosh it’s hot.”

Lalna kicked the pile of sheets into the hallway. “Is there a laundromat nearby?”

“I don’t know this area at all.” Zoey turned off her phone and shoved it in her pocket. “If not, Rythian lives near one. He can take that when he goes home.”

A cross breeze was coming in one bedroom window and crossing to the other bedroom. It was hot and smelled like tar. Lalna picked up the linens and carried them down the stairs. Zoey picked up the pillows and followed him downstairs, dumping them in a pile next to the couch. It was slightly better down there, with all of the living room windows open. Lalna started to sit on the couch, then stopped himself awkwardly.

“A new couch,” he said to Zoey.

“A new fridge too,” Zoey said, standing next to the couch. “Maybe some better mattresses? And an air conditioner.” She pulled out her phone and texted those to Rythian too.

“A television,” Lalna said.

“An Xbox,” Zoey replied. “High speed internet.” Her phone buzzed. Rythian had replied with a multi-bullet pointed text about how ridiculous her suggestions were. She smirked at her phone.

When she looked up again, she caught Lalna staring at the robotic tattoos on her arm. She was long past being self conscious about the scarring. If anyone cared about that, it was their own problem, not hers.

“Oh, that,” Zoey said. When Lalna looked up, she grinned at him. “Just a little explosion. Rythian thinks you did it.”

“He told me,” Lalna said, appearing startled.

“Did you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Hmm.” She gave him a look but then shrugged. “Rythian said he’ll consider getting popsicles.”

“You’re fine now though, right?” Lalna said. “Your arm looks fine.”

“Thanks.” She looked down at her arm and rubbed at the scars with her other hand. “I had to do two years of physical therapy before I could use it again, and it’s still not as strong as the other one, but it works pretty well.”

Lalna winced. “Sorry. That…that sounds terrible.”

She shrugged again. “Better me than one of the hostages, right?” She gave him a flippant grin. He turned away, whether from guilt or discomfort, she couldn’t tell.

“We need shampoo,” he said, walking to the bathroom door and looking in. “And soap. And towels.”

“Right.” She fumbled with her phone again. “I hope he remembers to save his receipts. The FIB should be paying for all this.”

“Do you trust him?” Lalna said, turning back.

It was Zoey’s turn to look momentarily surprised. “Not to give you up to Brindley, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a good guy,” she said.

“That wasn’t really an answer, though.”

“He’s a good guy who’s kind of obsessed with revenge. If he turns you in, it’s because he thinks you deserve it.”

“I, uh.” Lalna stared at her. “Okay, thanks for being honest, I guess.”

“Now it’s your turn. Did you set the tripwire?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never set a tripwire in my life.”

“Okay,” Zoey said. “I’ll accept that.”

He should let it go, but he couldn’t. “But why? If I did it, I would’t tell you.”

“You don’t think I should believe you?”

“You have no reason to.”

“Would it help me to think you’re lying? I’ve spent two years recovering from that bank robbery. I did want revenge at first, but it’s exhausting, you know? It’s a drain on your energy to just constantly hate all the time. I don’t know how Rythian can do it. I decided that I would forgive whoever did it, not for their sake but for mine. And it helped. So if you tell me you didn’t do it, I’m going to believe you. It won’t help me to sit here being suspicious or resentful about it. You didn’t do it. I’m glad.”

Lalna leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, staring at her. “But you’re a cop,” he said.

“Yeah? So?” She stared back at him.

“So you should care more about getting the bad guys than letting things be,” he said. “I didn’t set the tripwire, but that doesn’t matter, does it? Rythian thinks I did it. You clearly do too, or you wouldn’t be forgiving me for it. So why aren’t you arresting me?”

“Do you think that’s what we do?” Zoey asked him flatly. “Just arrest whoever we don’t like? There are rules to this. Proof is kind of important.”

“Not as far as I’ve seen,” Lalna said.

She shrugged at him. “Well then you haven’t been around the right kind of cop.”

She could tell he wanted to answer ‘there’s a right kind?‘ but for whatever reason, he didn’t.

Rythian got back after the sun had disappeared behind Chilliad. Zoey and Lalna had piled the mildewy linens by the back door and Zoey had ordered takeout. The two of them sat at the rickety kitchen table over the remains of their Taco Bomb burritos. Lalna was chattering about refrigerator maintenance to an increasingly bored Zoey, who brightened when Rythian shoved the door open and deposited a bunch of shopping bags on the counter.

“Ooh, what did you bring us?” she said, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Popsicles?”

“Popsicles,” Rythian affirmed. “They’re somewhere in here.”

Zoey started pawing through the bags. Lalna found a bag of clothes and picked through what Rythian had bought—mostly t-shirts and board shorts in colors ranging from black to dark gray to, occasionally, medium gray.

“Did they charge extra for color?” Lalna said, picking out a black shirt and holding it up to himself.

“I’m colorblind,” Rythian said shortly. “Those were the safest bet.” Plus he’d been looking forward to the disappointed look on Lalna’s face when he saw the clothes. He took his schadenfreude where he could get it.

“Found them!” Zoey said, pulling the popsicles from the bag. She ripped open the box and pulled out a package. “Who wants one? They’re melting fast.”

Rythian took the last wrapped burrito from the Taco Bomb takeout bags while Zoey distributed popsicles. Lalna disappeared upstairs with the clothing bag.

As soon as he left, Zoey plopped back down in her chair. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving you here alone with him,” she said.

“Zoey, it’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” She eyed him. “Break his sunglasses, buy him stupid clothes, whatever, I don’t care. But don’t lose your temper. If you're caught messing with witnesses for a federal trial, you’ll go to jail for longer than he will.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Rythian insisted, though he flushed a little, seeming embarrassed that she’d noticed.

“Good! But it’s only day one. You’ve got six more months of this.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Rythian said. “I’m a professional. He’s going to make it to this trial. Trust me.”

She frowned at him suspiciously, but finally nodded. “Okay.” She slurped at her knuckles where the popsicle was melting. “Just let me know if you think you’re, you know, going to beat him to death with a crowbar.”

The stairs creaked as Lalna came back down them. He had changed from the orange prison jumpsuit to the shorts and t-shirt, and looked marginally less overheated. From his neutral expression, Rythian couldn’t tell whether or not he’d heard their conversation. He came back to the table and sat down.

“Eat up,” Zoey said, shoving a popsicle at him. “I expect us to get through this box of popsicles by sunset.”


	11. Chapter 11

### Trott

“What do you mean, you need full payment now?” Trott cast an anxious glance back at his film crew, then at the pilot. “You said you’d bill us.”

The pilot shrugged, leaning against her plane. “I’ve heard you don’t always pay your bills. I don’t want to take the risk.”

“Who told you that? A Stunt Lad always pays his debts.” Okay, it wasn’t entirely true, but it sounded good, and in any case they flat out couldn’t afford to pay the pilot right now. Not until more ad revenue started coming in.

The pilot raised her eyebrow at Trott, then looked back at the film crew, who loitered on the tarmac, looking bored. “It’s not really a secret by this point.”

“I’ve already paid the film crew for the day!” Trott said. “I can’t just tell them to go home.”

“Not my problem.”

Trott’s phone buzzed with a text from Ross. _We’re in position at the pool._

“Look, if you agree to bill us later, I’ll throw in an extra five hundred. How’s that sound?” Trott asked desperately.

“You can promise me the moon but I don’t want it if I don’t get paid up front.” The pilot turned away from him and started walking back to the hanger. “Look, I have better things to do than argue this.”

“Hang on,” Trott said. “I’ll get you the money. Just—just give me an hour, okay?”

The pilot shrugged at him without turning around. “Sure, whatever.”

Trott dialed Smiffy’s number, his mind racing through plans. Which one of their contacts could they sucker into fronting them the cash? Did they know a single person who would fall for that again?

“Yeah?” Smiffy answered.

“Problem,” Trott said. “How much cash do you have in the bank?”

“Uh, a fiver? I don’t know. Why?”

“The pilot won’t fly without cash up front. We need to come up with four thousand dollars ASAP.”

“You can fly a plane, right?”

“Not if you want me to jump out of it too,” Trott said. “And renting a plane will require a deposit.”

“Is there another plane rental place around that doesn’t know us?”

“No, this is the last one.” Trott pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, how fast do you think you can sell Lalna’s car?”

“I’m not selling the Vacca.”

“We need it, Smiff. It’s free money.”

“It’s a fucking nice car, okay?”

“Yeah, which means you can get a lot of money for it. And if we can’t film our show, you won’t be able to afford to keep it.”

“Sell your own shit,” Smiffy snapped. “What about your car?”

“It won’t get us half as much, and I need it. Once we start making money again, you can buy—”

“Fuck you.” Smiffy hung up.

Trott looked over his shoulder at the film crew again. They were looking restless. It would be a massive waste of money to dismiss them for the day, especially since they’d also rented out the pool that Ross and Smiffy were stationed at right now. But they couldn’t afford the pilot’s fees.

Trott dialed Ross.

“Smiffy told me,” Ross said when he answered.

“Is he in earshot right now?” Trott asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well then just answer yes or no. Can you get the keys to the Vacca without Smiffy noticing?”

“Uh…” Ross paused. “Probably…”

“How fast do you think you can sell it?”

“Jesus, Trott.”

“That’s not a yes or a no.”

“It wasn’t a yes or no question! Uh, okay, pretty quick if I just—” Ross lowered his voice “—if I just sold it for scrap. Otherwise I dunno. I bet I could fence it in a few hours.”

“Do that. We need this cash.” Trott scrubbed a hand through his hair. “If we can’t afford to finish this filming, we’re fucked.”

* * *

### Rythian

Rythian woke clawing at his face, trying to remove the bandages before he fully woke and realized it was just the pillow against his face. Panting, he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to his own wheezing breath. His heart pounded in his throat and he heaved himself up onto one elbow, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

The sheets were soaked in sweat. It was hot in here, despite the open window. There was no breeze. Rythian wiped a hand through his sweaty hair and squeezed his eyes shut. _It was just a dream. You are in the safe house. It was only a dream._

As his breathing slowed, he started to hear the distant hum of the highway and the faint noise of a coyote yipping, and Zoey’s soft breathing in the twin bed across the room. It was almost suffocatingly quiet here. At least back in Rockford Hills, the steady traffic outside his house kept his thoughts at bay and had given him something to cling to when the nightmares woke him up.

He flopped back against the pillow and massaged his face, feeling the lumps of scar tissue under his skin. His teeth and temples ached like he’d been clenching his jaw tightly while he slept. Everything ached, honestly. He always woke up feeling like he’d been curled up in a ball of tension all night.

Something clattered downstairs, and Rythian was up and out of bed before he even knew it, the adrenaline from his dream contributing to his reaction. He pawed at the foot of his bed and found his gun, still in its holster.

Straining to listen, he eased his way across the floor of the bedroom to the doorway, strapping on the holster over his shirt but keeping the gun bare in his hand. The door to the bedroom across the hall was open, but it was too dark to see if Lalna was in there. He crept down the stairs, keeping to the edges so they wouldn’t creak. Faint yellow light lit the bottom of the stairs just enough that he wasn’t descending into pitch blackness.

“Dammit,” muttered a voice. Rythian’s shoulders tensed up, and then he forced them to relax. That had been Lalna’s voice. He reached the bottom of the stairs and peered around the corner.

A table lamp was sitting on the kitchen floor, plugged in to a wall outlet. It splashed warm yellow light over the tile floor, where Lalna was sitting with a collection of mechanical parts around him. As Rythian watched, Lalna scraped at a layer of greasy dust on a metal plate with his thumbnail, then rubbed it vigorously on the t-shirt he was wearing. His injured hand was resting on his knee, fingers curled upward. The cast was grubby.

Rythian stopped behind him. The fridge had been pulled away from the wall enough to display the back. Lalna had taken the broken motor out of it.

“What are you doing?” Rythian said, his voice loud and flat in the quiet.

“ _Jesus_.” Lalna jumped a mile, scrambling away from him. He stared up at Rythian, a wrench in his fist. His lips were blue from a popsicle. “What the fuck! Where did you come from?”

Rythian allowed himself a snort. Lalna was still holding the wrench tightly, so Rythian rather obviously tucked the gun back into its holster. Lalna looked down at the wrench in his hand and then lowered it.

“The fridge is broken,” Lalna said with a shrug.

“It’s four a.m.”

“Yeah?” Lalna turned back to his project.

Rythian stared at him a moment longer, his gaze boring a hole in the back of Lalna’s head. Without the presence of Zoey between them, there was nothing keeping him from getting a good punch in if he wanted. Or worse.

He had never expected his revenge to be that petty.

He went to the sink and filled a glass with water and pressed it against his forehead. Even the water was warm. Lalna hunched over the parts again. Metal clinked. 

“You can’t actually fix that, can you?” Rythian asked.

Lalna shrugged without lifting his head. His hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail, was sticking to his neck with sweat. He’d removed the bandages from his head, and from where Rythian was standing, he could see a small patch shaved at the base of his skull. A line of spider black stitches ran from one side of the patch to the other.

“It’s just the overload protector,” Lalna said.

Rythian made a dubious noise, sipping at the water. “If you electrocute yourself, I’m going to try to collect the reward.”

It was Lalna’s turn to snort, although he didn’t look up. “What’ll you buy with the money?”

Rythian was silent. After a moment, Lalna looked over his shoulder at him.

“A new car,” Rythian said shortly. He finished the glass of water and put it down in the sink. Lalna blinked at him for a moment, then turned back around to his work.

“Oh yeah? What kind?” he said, so lightly that Rythian couldn’t tell whether he’d believed him.

“A red one.”

“What kind of red one?”

“A fast red one.”

“Now I know why you drive that Stanier.” Lalna started stripping the plastic casing from a wire, bracing the part between his elbow and knee since he didn’t have the use of both his hands. “You don’t know any better.”

“That car is perfectly fine,” Rythian said. “I’ve had it ten years.”

“You know the fuel tank explodes when you get rear-ended, right?”

“I don’t intend to get rear-ended.”

“Never?” There was a laugh in his voice.

Rythian flushed slightly. “How about you?”

“Have I ever been rear-ended?” This time Lalna did laugh, and looked over his shoulder again.

“What kind of car do you have,” Rythian said very flatly. He had already seen Lalna’s car on his countless illegal surveillance missions, but at least it got them away from the topic of what Rythian would get if he killed Lalna.

“A twenty-twelve Pegassi Vacca,” Lalna replied immediately. “Sunset orange. V-10 engine, carbon-ceramic brakes, six speed transmission—”

“That’s a mid-life crisis car, right?” Rythian said. “Isn’t that the cheapest thing Pegassi sells?”

“Wow, fuck you.” Despite his response, he laughed again.

“Where did you get the money for that, anyway?” Rythian added. “I thought the only job you had on record in the last six or seven years was…what, a mechanic?”

Lalna paused, his expression closing. “I inherited some money,” he said, turning back to his work.

“Hmm,” Rythian said noncommittally.

Lalna twisted two wires together firmly. “What are you doing up this late, anyway?”

“I heard you dropping things down here.” Rythian considered pulling over a chair and sitting down. He didn’t particularly want to prolong this engagement, but he wasn’t ready to face his bed again, anyway. He’d be laying awake for at least another hour, he knew from past experience.

“Afraid someone was breaking in to kill us in our beds?”

“You should be grateful I bothered checking it out.” Fuck it. Rythian dragged one of the kitchen chairs out and sat down in it. Lalna looked up at the sound, seeming surprised.

“So then why aren’t you going back to bed?”

“Once I’m up, I’m up.” If he were back home, he’d be able to make a coffee for himself, maybe get some paperwork done. At least watch television. Maybe he’d lug an old tv over here, or get some good books.

Silence fell. Lalna got so lost in the project that after a few moments, Rythian was pretty sure Lalna had entirely forgotten his existence. He stared at the side of Lalna’s face, at the way he gnawed at his lower lip as he worked.

 _Is there anything I could do for you?_ Lalna had asked.

Rythian jerked his gaze away. He considered loudly scraping back his chair, but refrained. The small sounds of Lalna’s work were just the focus he needed so that he didn’t have to think about his nightmares. Which he only had because of Lalna.

Rythian pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his temples throb. He could feel the familiar anger from yesterday coming back. This man sitting on the floor here had participated in the murder of fourteen soldiers, and if he hadn’t done it himself, he had been involved in the commission of the crime. That amounted to the same thing in the eyes of the law.

If he was being entirely honest with himself, it wasn’t even that he was particularly upset about the deaths. He hadn’t known any of the people who had died. They were all military. It was tragic, but people died in Los Santos every day. What made him furious was the idea that Lalna and Sjin had got away with the bank robbery that had injured him and Zoey. He had fantasized about bringing them to justice, torturing them until they confessed, finding the right evidence to put them in jail for life. He wanted them to regret what they’d done, not get away with yet another crime.

Lalna got to his feet, repaired piece in hand, and went over to the back of the fridge. The movement pulled Rythian out of his thoughts. He straightened up.

“Is that going to explode?” Rythian said warily.

“Cross your fingers,” Lalna said, squatting down behind the fridge and slotting the piece back in place. Without bothering to screw it all the way in, he picked up the refrigerator cord and plugged it in to the wall socket.

The fridge rattled, its motors whirring up. Lalna cheered, and Rythian raised his eyebrows, impressed despite himself.

“Where did you learn to—” he started to say.

With a pop, sparks shot out of the back of the fridge. The fridge motor abruptly stopped, and the table lamp across the room went out. The smell of fried plastic filled the air.

“Oh, cock,” Lalna said, yanking the plug out of the socket. “That was, uh, not good.” He laughed sheepishly.

“So it wasn’t the overload protector that was the problem,” Rythian said, scraping back his chair. It was pitch black in there now. He felt his way to the sink and opened the window there.

“I only said it might be.”

“You never said ‘might.’”

“Okay, well, it wasn’t.” Lalna coughed. Rythian heard the sound of him crawling out from behind the fridge. His voice turned thoughtful. “I think I know what it is, actually.”

“No.” Rythian’s eyes were starting to adjust to the faint moonlight. He picked his way very carefully across the room to the back door. “No more fires tonight. I’m going to the fuse box and you’re going to bed.”

“It’s only four a.m.,” Lalna protested.

“It’s past that now. The sun’s going to come up soon.” Rythian unlocked the back door and stepped outside into the night.

The fuse box was on the back of the house. He flipped switches until the light came back on in the kitchen. When he got back inside, Lalna had turned on the overhead light and was studying the back of the fridge critically.

“Yeah, I definitely know—”

“ _Bed_ ,” Rythian said. Lalna looked at him, squinting in the light. His lips were still blue from the popsicle. He probably tasted like blue raspberry, Rythian thought, and then felt like banging his head into the wall. What was wrong with his brain tonight?

“Yes, mum,” Lalna said, sounding more amused than annoyed.

Rythian turned away from him and stalked back to the stairs. “Do what you want,” he said. He climbed the stairs while Lalna turned out the kitchen light.

Zoey was still sound asleep in her bed. Rythian stripped off his shoulder holster and sat down on the edge of his own bed, listening to Lalna come up the stairs and go into the bedroom opposite. Sighing, Rythian looked toward the window. The horizon was just beginning to turn gold. He’d never get back to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

### Rythian

“Come on, Rythian, this is so much better with three players.” Zoey made puppy dog eyes at him from across the room. “Lalna’s already in the medieval era and I haven’t even researched the wheel yet.”

She and Lalna were lounging in the living room, playing Civ V in hotseat mode on Zoey’s laptop. The laptop’s fans were whirring furiously in the heat, and it had gotten too hot to put on anyone’s actual lap, so it sat on the couch between them. Zoey had stripped to an undershirt and cutoff shorts and had her bare feet propped up on the coffee table. Lalna was in the black t-shirt and shorts that Rythian had bought him, which were too heavy for the heat, though he didn’t seem inclined to strip off.

Rythian was in the kitchen on his own laptop, using his cell phone as a mobile hot spot so he could access the internet. He’d taken a few hours this morning to head back to his office at work and look into the traffic cameras around the scene of the bank robbery in Chumash. Photographs taken by the traffic cameras were only kept for six months, except in cases where the fine wasn’t paid. He’d gone through both Sjin and Lalna’s driving records. There was no mention of a traffic fine being left unpaid. Did that mean they’d paid it, or did it mean they’d not been charged? Had the car in the picture even been registered to them? If they’d been traveling in someone else’s car, was it stolen? Or was it another accomplice?

“Yeah but I’m Babylon,” Lalna said. “I get extra science. Boudicca is terrible for science.”

Zoey gave an exaggerated shrug. “She’s the best though.”

“Not for science.”

“For _everything else_.”

“Sure,” Lalna drawled, unconvinced.

Rythian raised his gaze and looked over at them. Zoey had the laptop at the moment. Lalna was leaning back against the arm of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. Rythian felt a pang of jealousy, watching them. A fat fly buzzed in between the blinds and the window, beating itself against the glass.

“What car did you own before the Vacca?” Rythian asked.

After a pause, Lalna lifted his head. “What?”

“The Vacca. That’s new, right?”

Lalna blinked at him. “Kind of? I guess I got it two years ago. Why?”

“What car did you have before that?”

Something in his blue eyes went wary. “Some crappy car. I don’t even remember.”

“You know every detail about the Vacca but can’t tell me what your car before that was?”

“I actually care about the Vacca. I bought the other one for like a hundred dollars off Craigslist.”

“You can buy cars on Craigslist?” Zoey asked, passing the laptop over. Lalna bent over the keyboard.

“You can buy anything on Craigslist,” he mumbled, distracted.

“Was it a Dundreary Regina?” Rythian asked.

“What? No.” This time Lalna looked up. “God, no. That thing is worse than your Stanier.”

“So you know what it wasn’t, but not what it was?”

Lalna blinked at him. “I think it might have been a Futo? I don’t remember.”

“Weren’t you a mechanic?”

He looked down again. “Yeah,” he mumbled, and went back to clicking.

“Were you fired because you couldn’t tell the cars apart?” Zoey asked.

Lalna snorted but didn’t say anything. He clicked decisively and shoved the laptop back towards Zoey. She dragged it toward herself and frowned.

“Keep your embassies to yourself,” she said, and hunched over the laptop.

“Why? I can trade whales,” he said.

“We’re vegetarian,” Zoey replied.

“You don’t have to _eat_ them.”

“Did you ever rent a Regina?” Rythian pressed.

Lalna stared at him. “Those are the ones with the roof racks on top where you can strap your luggage when you go camping with the kids, right?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Not that Lalna would tell the truth if he had. Rythian turned back to his laptop. If the car had been a rental, the rental agency would have paid the ticket and it wouldn’t have shown up on Sjin or Lalna’s record at all. The agency would have just added the fee to the rental cost. However, they would probably have a record of Sjin or Lalna renting the car at that time. Perhaps it was time to start checking out local car rental agencies.

“Why does it matter?” Lalna asked.

“No reason,” said Rythian. Zoey lifted her head, but Rythian ignored her.

“Hey, how about you go get us some iced coffees?” she suggested.

“In a minute,” Rythian said, opening up a new browser window with a search for local car rental agencies.

“Rythian.”

He looked up. Zoey raised her eyebrows at him.

“Zoey,” Rythian replied, slightly annoyed.

“I want a hazelnut decaf,” Zoey said. “Extra cream, extra sugar.”

“I’m busy right now,” Rythian said. “I’ll do it in a bit.”

Zoey smacked her lips. “I’m getting pretty thirsty.”

She always picked the most annoying times to try to distract him from his obsessions. He rubbed at his eyes, then pushed back his chair. “Okay. Fine.” He needed the fresh air anyway.

“Same thing but not decaf,” Lalna said. Rythian leveled a look at him but nodded.

“Kisses,” said Zoey.

He glared at her and closed his laptop, stretching. A thought occurred to him as he got to his feet. Harmony wasn’t _that_ far from Chumash. It might make the coffee run take a couple hours, but if Zoey hadn’t wanted him to go check out the car rental agencies in person, she shouldn’t have given him an excuse to leave the safe house.

“Back in a bit,” he said, grabbing the keys. Neither of them looked up from the laptop as he headed out the door.

The drive out through the valley was relaxing. The mountains were picturesque here, and there was more wildlife than people. At one point he even thought he saw a cougar off in the brush.

Chumash was on the edge of the ocean, south of Fort Zancudo. It was a very small town, mostly made up of beach homes and a sad looking pier, but large enough to have a savings bank, a tattoo parlor, and a car rental place. Not that Sjin and Lalna were likely to have rented a car in the same town where they intended to rob a bank, but it was a place to start.

He spent half an hour talking to the clerk behind the counter, showing his badge to get access to the rental records. After that, he googled more rental agencies nearby, and followed a string of them down the Grand Ocean Highway, working his way further and further from Chumash.

Zoey started texting him after two hours. He pulled in to a Bean Machine and bought three iced coffees and sent her back a picture of them, then continued on. One more car rental place and then he’d start heading back.

He pulled into the last place and parked. There was a man ahead of him at the counter, asking about rental prices. Rythian waited until the man was finished, then flashed his badge at the rental agent and started questioning him.

Half an hour later, he stepped back out of the rental agency with nothing to show for his coffee run. He heaved a sigh, though he admitted to himself that he hadn’t really expected to get very far with this line of research.

The man who had been asking about rental prices at the counter was leaning against Rythian’s car, fiddling with his phone. Rythian stopped five feet away. The man looked up.

“Officer,” the man said brightly. “Good afternoon.”

“Who are you?” Rythian said.

The man held out a hand and stepped forward. “My name’s Turps. I work for Mr. Brindley.”

Rythian raised an eyebrow and didn’t shake Turps’s hand. “I’m sorry, I’m working on Mr. Brindley’s case. I can’t speak with you.”

“No you’re not.” Turps drew his hand back with a shrug and casually adjusted the sleeve of his suit. “That’s the FIB’s jurisdiction. But you are taking care of their evidence.”

Rythian’s jaw tightened. His job at the safe house was meant to be top secret. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised that Brindley’s men already knew about it. Brindley seemed to have connections all over the place. But if they knew this much, what else did they know?

“Talking to me won’t help Mr. Brindley’s case,” Rythian said.

“Won’t it?” Turps glanced over at the car rental agency. “You looking into renting a car?”

“Are you?” Rythian said flatly.

Turps shrugged. “You shouldn’t flash that badge around everywhere if you’re on personal business.”

So Mr. Brindley had been keeping an eye out for him. If Brindley really had left him those files on his desk—not that Rythian doubted it, but this was merely further confirmation—then he must have known Rythian would start looking into the evidence. He might have people reporting back to him if Rythian showed up, or he could have even had surveillance on the car rental places. Perhaps Rythian should have been more subtle.

“I’ve really got to get going,” Rythian said. “My iced coffee is melting.”

Turps glanced over his shoulder into the car window. “You’ve got quite a thirst, Officer Hellstrand.”

“It’s Detective,” Rythian said.

“’Scuse me, sorry. _Detective_ Hellstrand.” Turps stepped away from the car. “I’ll let you get on your way. Unless you think you have information to give me…?”

“No, thank you,” Rythian said, very cold. Turps nodded and strolled away. Rythian watched him cross the parking lot to another car and get in. He waited until Turps had driven away before he got into his own car.

He couldn’t drive back to the safe house now. Turps could have put some sort of tracking device on his car, or had some other method of following him back. There was no telling the extent of their surveillance. Rythian pulled out his phone and texted Zoey.

_Something came up. Can’t use my car._

He paused, then added,

_Keep an eye out._

* * *

### Zoey

_Keep an eye out_

Zoey stared at the message, then pocketed her phone. “I don’t think we’re getting coffee,” she said, going to the front window. She shifted the curtain just a tad and looked out toward the street. Nothing suspicious out there.

“What’s going on?” Lalna looked up from the laptop. Their game of Civ was reaching a middle, which was a strong indicator of how long Rythian had been gone.

“He said he can’t use his car. I think that means he’s being followed.” She moved to the west side of the house and looked out that window. Nothing.

“Is he nearby?” Lalna’s voice was suddenly very concerned—not with Rythian’s safety, Zoey guessed, but rather how close Rythian’s pursuit had gotten to the house.

“He didn’t say but I don’t think so. I think he took the coffee run as an excuse to get work done somewhere.” Zoey checked the back of the house. “We’re probably fine.”

Lalna got up from the couch to come to the windows too. “So… what if we’re not?” He looked over at her. “What then?”

“Then we move to safe house number two,” Zoey said.

“With what car?”

Zoey took a breath. “Well, if someone actually attacks the safe house, we’re going to call for reinforcements. Until they get here, we hold them off.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” He spread his empty hands.

Zoey eyed him. “Me, then. And Rythian when he gets back.”

“If I had a gun, I’d feel a lot better. I’m not very good at hand-to-hand combat.”

“You having a gun is what got you into this mess, isn’t it?” Zoey went back to the couch and sat down. “It’s going to be fine, Lalna.”

“You don’t know that.” He looked over his shoulder at her, still standing in the window. “You said Rythian could turn on me if he thought I deserved it.”

Zoey paused, chewing her lower lip. “He wouldn’t have warned me if he had,” she said. “Also, just being totally honest here, he wouldn’t have done it while I was on guard duty. He wouldn’t want me to get hurt, since he knew I’d fight whoever came for you. Now come on and finish your turn.”

His mouth twisted unhappily, but he came back to the house. “So you’re saying I should be extra careful if you’re not around.”

Zoey shrugged. “I’m not _not_ saying that.”

He picked up the laptop and gave a few bored clicks. “I could be extra careful if I had a weapon.”

“Don’t even hint to me that you plan to use a weapon against Rythian.”

“I’m not. Just against anyone who attacks me.”

“No, Lalna.”

He shoved the laptop away, his brow pinching. “This is fucking boring.”

“You’re saying that because I’m winning, aren’t you?” She took the laptop back. Her cultural victory was going slowly, but she was working toward nukes just in case all else failed.

“I’m saying that because it takes eight fucking hours to win a game.” He got to his feet again and stalked into the kitchen, hugging his injured hand to his chest, but before he’d even gotten to the back window, the tension had drained from his shoulders. “I wish we had Netflix,” he said with a tired laugh, taking a warm can of Coke from the kitchen counter.

“I have, ah…” Zoey tabbed out to check Steam. “A couple other games we could play. Oh, hey, what about Octodad? That could be fun.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Nano and I played that. She didn’t speak to me for a week afterward.”

Zoey carefully kept her gaze on the laptop screen. “She’s your roommate?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s she up to now?”

He shrugged, returning to the living room. He held out the can to her. “I can’t open this one-handed.”

She popped the top for him and handed it back, unsure if he’d dodged the question on purpose. “If you were back home, what would you be doing right now?”

“Probably playing Stardew Valley.” He laughed at himself. “I don’t do a lot else besides video games. If only I could make money off that.”

“In a perfect world.” Zoey saved the Civ game and quit it. “Ugh, you’re right, this is boring. We can’t send out for food either because Rythian’s being a douche. What else could we—” She trailed off. “Hey, do you have a LifeInvader?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He sat back down on the couch next to her.

Zoey started to grin, typing into the browser window. “I know someone who needs a few new friends.”

* * *

### Lalna

Lalna descended the stairs at midnight, after Zoey had gone to bed. The house was hot as soup and he had never been able to sleep when it was dark out.

And he had a phone call to make.

Zoey had left her phone on the kitchen counter downstairs, plugged into the charger. It had a lock, but he’d seen her putting in the code earlier when she was texting Rythian, so it was easy enough to open. He pulled out a kitchen chair carefully, perched on it, and dialed Nano’s phone number.

She didn’t answer the first time around, so he hung up and dialed again. This time she did answer, sounding sleepy. “’Lo?”

“Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, hooking his bare toes around the lower rung of the chair.

“Lalna?” She sounded abruptly more awake. “What? How are—Where are you?”

“I’m at the safe house.” Lalna glanced toward the stairs. “Where are you?”

“I got a hotel room.” There was the sound of sheets rustling. “Thanks for driving me out of my house, by the way. I really appreciate being hunted by Brindley’s men.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I just… it was that or prison.” He hunched his shoulders guiltily. “Honestly, I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

Nano huffed out air against the mouthpiece. “I never should have left you to wander around the river bank,” she said, but gently. “So where’s the safe house?”

“Up near the desert. Harmony? I don’t know where that is. There’s nothing out here. Just farms.”

“I can google it.” Nano yawned. “How’s things? I heard someone tried to kill you?”

“I’m fine. Look, I need a way out of here. These people are going to kill me.” Lalna paused, listening for a noise upstairs, but heard nothing. “One of the cops here is going to try to collect on the reward.”

“You can’t report him?” Nano asked.

“To who? His partner? She already knows. I don’t know who else is in on it.” Lalna rubbed his nose with the back of his cast. “Look, don’t call this number back. I’ll call you back when I can. Could you just find a way to Harmony? Get some guns and break me out of here?”

“Are you locked up? What’s the security like?”

“I’ve got an ankle monitor. I reckon I can get it off but it’s going to take some work. If I cut the band, it breaks the fiberoptic cable inside, which sets off an alarm back at the company, so I have to—”

“Don’t care,” Nano interrupted. “So you need me to give you a ride once you get it off?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think you can ask me a favor at this point?” Nano sounded amused. “What’s the motto again? Whoever falls behind—”

“—Gets left behind.” Lalna said it with her. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you get me out of here, I won’t have to testify and Brindley won’t be angry with us. It’s win-win. Maybe he’ll even pay us.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “You know the tanks went missing, right?” Nano asked finally.

“They _what_?” He said it too loudly. He clapped a hand to his mouth and listened for movement. Nothing.

“When Brindley’s men went to pick up the tanks, they were gone.”

“What happened to them?”

“I don’t know yet, but… Do you remember Ross telling us to hide the flux tanks?” Nano asked. “We were in the car escaping the scene. We’d already been poisoned.”

The question made something fuzzy turn over in Lalna’s head, like a quiet sound heard in a distant room. “Hide the—?” Lalna trailed off. “I…”

“You do, don’t you?”

He stared blankly at the far wall, which was shrouded in shadow. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Where did we put them, Lal?”

“I don’t know.”

“We did hide them, though, didn’t we?”

“I…guess? Maybe? I don’t really remember…” Lalna shook his head to clear it. “There was something…” He swatted at an itch on his leg, then forced himself to sit still. “I don’t know.”

Nano sighed. “Well, keep thinking about it. I’m looking for them.”

Headlights painted the wall over Lalna’s head. He jerked upright as a car pulled into the driveway. “Gotta go,” he gasped, hanging up the phone on her startled response.

He got to his feet and flattened himself against the wall in the shadows, watching the back door. Was it Rythian, or someone else? If it was Rythian—shit, the phone. He was too far from the plug to put it back where he’d found it, so he shoved it into the back waist band of his boxers. If it wasn’t Rythian, he’d keep to the shadows and make a run for it when they went upstairs. Zoey would be okay on her own, right?

A car door slammed and then a shape appeared on the other side of the door window. There was a key in the door. It was Rythian, then.

Rythian shoved the door open and stepped into the kitchen, not bothering with the light. Lalna stood, his back against the far wall, while Rythian tossed his car keys onto the counter. He turned back to the door and locked it, then stared out the window for a second at the car as if checking one last time for pursuit. Then he turned away.

Lalna held his breath. Rythian started across the kitchen to the staircase, then paused.

In two giant steps, he crossed the room and drove his elbow into Lalna’s neck. Lalna had barely a second to bring up his good hand, shunting the force from Rythian’s elbow away from his throat. They both slammed into the wall hard and Lalna swore.

“What are you doing?” Rythian growled, pinning him against the wall so hard that the plaster cracked.

“It’s me,” Lalna spat, choking. “It’s just me.”

“I know.” Rythian adjusted his arm, giving Lalna slightly more air. “What are you doing in the dark?”

“I thought you were an assassin,” Lalna said, trying to pry Rythian’s arm away from his neck. “I was down here getting water when you drove up.”

“I’d have seen it if you turned off the light when I drove up. Try again.”

“I didn’t have the light on. There’s enough light from the moon.”

Rythian gave a deliberate look over his shoulder toward the sink. “So where’s your glass of water?”

“Would you get off me, Sherlock?” Lalna tried to twist Rythian’s arm away. Rythian slammed him against the wall again for good measure, and something tightened in Lalna’s stomach in a way that was definitely _not_ intimidated.

_Damn_ , he thought distantly.

“Last chance. What were you doing down here?” Rythian growled. His voice went down into a very low register. He smelled of cigarettes and something else—whiskey?

“Have you been drinking?” Lalna asked.

There was a pause and then Rythian shoved him back, letting go of him. “Fuck off.”

It was an in, and Lalna pursued it. “Is that what you do when you’re off duty? Get plastered?”

“I’m not drunk.” Rythian retreated another foot, which seemed to be an admission of guilt.

“Is that how you got them to stop following you? You spent the afternoon in a bar until they gave up?”

Rythian glared at him. “Show me your ankle,” he said.

“My…?” Lalna was at a loss. Rythian stepped forward again and Lalna jerked back against the wall to avoid him. Zoey’s phone slid down the leg of his boxers and he twitched, pinning the phone between himself and the wall. Shit.

“Your monitor,” Rythian enunciated. “Show me your ankle monitor.”

Lalna stared at him, then down at his foot. Leaning against the wall, he lifted his foot up. Rythian grabbed his ankle and hoisted his leg up a little higher than Lalna had expected. Rythian’s cold hand ran around the band of the ankle monitor, testing its integrity. His other hand cupped the back of Lalna’s calf in a weirdly intimate way that was really not helping the situation. Lalna bit down on his lower lip hard while Rythian’s fingers slid between the monitor band and the sensitive skin of his ankle. Goosebumps chased each other up his leg.

“You haven’t done anything to it,” Rythian admitted grudgingly.

“Haven’t touched it,” Lalna said.

“Yet.” Rythian looked up at him and then seemed to see something in Lalna’s expression that took him off guard. He let go of Lalna’s leg, letting it drop abruptly. Lalna kept his back pressed tightly against the wall, feeling his cheeks start to get hot.

“I, um,” Lalna said. “Just couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”

There was a pause as Rythian studied him, seeming to weigh his sincerity. After a moment, Rythian admitted, “I ran into one of Brindley’s men today.”

“Yeah?” Lalna waited.

“I didn’t tell him anything.” The unspoken addition—that he could have—hung in the air between them.

“Thanks.”

“It’s my job,” Rythian added, like he didn’t want Lalna to labor under the impression that he’d done it out of purity of heart.

“I know.”

Another pause. Rythian huffed out a breath, then cut a glance toward the fridge. “It’s still not working.”

“I haven’t gotten to it yet.” Lalna glanced toward it too. “We played Civ all day.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s hard to fix it one-handed.”

“Ask Zoey to help.”

“Why, are you going off talking to Brindley’s people again tomorrow?”

“If I have to.” Rythian took a step back. “I’m going upstairs now. Try not to burn the house down.”

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

“So you said.” Rythian sent another dubious look toward the sink, then turned away from him. “Night.”

“Night.” Lalna watched him go.

It was only when Rythian was all the way up the stairs that Lalna pulled the phone out from between his leg and the wall. He unlocked it and erased the traces of his phone call, then plugged it back in where Zoey had left it.

Then he turned toward the fridge. As long as he was here, there was work to be done.


	13. Chapter 13

### Rythian

Tuesday morning dawned rainy and dark, with distant rumbles of thunder sounding off the mountains. Rythian came downstairs after too little sleep to find Lalna asleep on the couch, his broken hand dangling over the side. The fridge was purring gently. Rythian frowned at it and went to make some coffee.

Zoey came down a few minutes later, yawning. She accepted the cup of coffee Rythian pushed at her and sat down at the kitchen table.

“So what happened yesterday?” she asked him in a quiet voice.

Rythian rubbed the back of his neck, debating how much to tell her. He hated to give her an opportunity to tell him that she’d told him so, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“I went to Chumash,” he said finally. “Checked out some car rental agencies there. One of Brindley’s men caught up with me.”

Zoey’s eyebrows rose but she said nothing, just sipped her coffee.

“They knew I was working the safe house, which means they probably know you are too. We can’t use our own cars if that’s the case. I’m borrowing this one from my neighbor.” He nodded toward the door leading to the driveway.

“The location services on your phone are off, right?” Zoey asked. She leaned over and snagged hers off the kitchen counter where it had been charging.

“I double checked,” said Rythian. “They might be able to trace calls from nearby cell phone towers, but only if they know where to look, and if they knew that, they’d know where we were anyway.”

Zoey nodded and thumbed through the settings on her phone. She set it back down on the table and glanced over her shoulder at Lalna, then back at Rythian.

“So what did you find in Chumash?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Rythian said bitterly. “It was a dead end. I don’t have a license plate to work off, and none of the rental agencies in the area had any record of renting to Sjin or Lalna, assuming they even used their real names. Neither of them have records of fines they paid for specific infractions on specific days. All the records from the traffic cameras are gone. Neither Sjin nor Lalna owned the car in the picture, as far as I can tell. I don’t even know if that picture I got was related to the robbery at all. Lots of people drive through red lights.”

“Are you giving up?”

“On that line of research, yeah.”

“What’s next?”

He shrugged helplessly. “Nothing I haven’t gone over a million times in the last five years.” He gulped down the last of his coffee. The wind whistled and the blinds in the living room rattled. It was getting darker outside instead of brighter, and the rumbling was getting louder. The air was hot and wet.

“Looks like a storm,” Zoey said. She got to her feet and peeked out the kitchen door to the driveway. “If we lose electricity, the cabin fever might reach lethal levels in here. And if it comes down to it, I’m the one who gets to go out in the car today. You’ve gone off twice now.”

Rythian leaned back in his seat. “You trust me?”

She turned and looked at him. “I can’t babysit you. All I ask is that you _please don’t do anything illegal_. I don’t want to have to lie for you.”

Rythian met her gaze. “Got it,” he said. “You get the car next.”

“Rythian…”

Rythian sighed. “Honestly, Zoey, trust me. I’m not going to do anyone any harm. You know that.”

She regarded him somberly. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you won’t do something stupid.”

On the couch, Lalna stirred, stretching. Zoey pushed back her chair.

“Thanks for the fridge, Jones,” she called into the living room. “Now we can have cream in our coffee.”

Lalna yawned and sat up. “No worries,” he mumbled. “S’there any coffee left?”

“A little,” Zoey said. “Rythian, do you want to make us some pancakes? We have that powder mix.”

Rythian sighed and got up, knowing she’d just pester him until he gave in. Lalna shuffled into the kitchen and started rooting around through cupboards to find a coffee cup. The bruises from his so-called “car accident” had turned into a spectacular rainbow of color, from deep black-purple to pale yellow green and every shade in between. That on top of the stitches and the broken hand made him look like a murder victim. He got a cup down, then started trying to pop the cap on the top of the powdered coffee creamer one-handed. Rythian reached over and plucked it from his hands, then opened it and handed it back.

“Thanks,” Lalna said, taking it back. Rythian grunted and took the pancake mix out of the cupboard.

“Wasn’t that sweet,” said Zoey. Rythian shot her a dirty look and she grinned at him.

When he moved past Lalna to get some water at the sink, Lalna stepped back. The ankle monitor banged off the table leg, causing the coffees on the table to splash.

“Whoops, sorry,” Lalna said. He went to get some paper towels, where they were still in the plastic bags.

Rythian and Zoey’s phones both buzzed. Zoey picked hers up and glanced at it.

“There was a brief interruption in your monitoring service,” she said.

“It’s that sensitive?” Lalna asked, ripping open the paper towel package. “Is it broken now?”

“No,” Rythian said. “It happens all the time. Some monitoring companies don’t even bother alerting the parole officer if the disruption lasts less than a minute.” He fixed Lalna with a look. “Ours does.”

“You mean you’ll get a text every time I kick a table?” Lalna was looking gleeful now. “I hope you have a cheap texting plan.”

“Go right ahead,” Rythian said. “If I even suspect that you’re doing it on purpose, I’ll charge you with tampering.”

“Oh,” he said, looking less enthusiastic. He finished mopping up the spilled coffee and sat down at the table. “What if it’s an accident? I can’t help it if it’s that sensitive.”

“Just try it and we’ll see,” Rythian said, eyeing him. He wasn’t convinced that Lalna hadn’t staged the whole thing on purpose, to acclimatize them to the idea that he was just clumsy and make them disregard the texts. Was that overthinking it? He didn’t look that smart, but on the other hand he had fixed the fridge. Maybe he was an idiot savant.

“Pancakes,” Zoey said, clapping her hands. “Let’s get those pancakes going.”

Rythian turned back to the stove as a gust of wind rattled the window frames. The pancakes were just powder and water, which made the process easy enough, and within a few minutes the three of them were sitting down to pancakes and coffee. They were almost as good as pancakes made from real ingredients.

The rest of the morning went lazily. The electricity held on, thank god, and Rythian even deigned to play a new game of Civ with Zoey and Lalna. At least when the Civ game devolved into war between him and Lalna, with Lalna pettily raiding every tile of his to ruin his economy like the amoral criminal he was, it was a more reasonable outlet for his frustration. For a while, it was even fun.

Around noon, while they picked over leftover pancakes for lunch, Lalna excused himself to disappear into the bathroom. When he came out a minute later, both Zoey and Rythian’s phone started to buzz with another warning text.

“Show me,” Rythian said, shooting to his feet. Lalna stared at him with faux innocence.

“What?” he said, looking down at himself. “Show you what?”

Behind him, Zoey sniggered. Rythian ignored her and stalked toward Lalna, pointing at the kitchen chair. Lalna obediently sat down and offered up his foot like Cinderella after the ball. It gave Rythian uncomfortable memories of the previous night, when he had checked the monitor and Lalna had looked at him like—well. Like something.

The monitor looked fine. No cracks, no disengaged lock. It was completely intact.

“The bathroom is small,” Lalna said, watching him. “I probably hit it against the sink. I didn’t even notice.”

“It is a small bathroom,” Zoey agreed.

“You’re not helping anyone, Zoey,” Rythian said. “If this happens one more time today, I’m pressing charges,” he warned Lalna. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Lalna said, although he looked amused. Rythian slid his hand slowly up the back of Lalna’s calf under the pretense of checking one last time, and took pleasure in the way Lalna’s expression turned uncomfortable. He let go and returned to his seat.

The thunderstorm hit later in the afternoon, while Rythian was in the middle of nuking Lalna’s capital city. It started with a massive crack of thunder, and lightning that lit up the whole room. The power went out a beat after that, plunging them into gloom.

“Shit,” said Zoey, getting up to look out the front window. “My battery won’t last an hour with this game running.”

“Maybe we should shut it down,” Rythian said, ending his turn.

“Fuck no,” Lalna said, grabbing the laptop from him. “You _nuked_ my _capital_? You’ll regret that.”

“I got all your nuclear submarines, too,” Rythian said.

“You _what_?” The horror on his face was comical enough that Rythian grinned despite himself, although it hurt his jaw. Lalna started furiously clicking.

“Try to build your precious space ship now, Jones,” Rythian said.

“You didn’t get _all_ my nuclear subs,” Lalna mumbled, clicking. Rythian leaned over to look at the screen and Lalna swatted at his arm. It was so casually playful that it caught him off guard. He had been about to lean in again, like he would have with Zoey, but this wasn’t Zoey, was it?

Rythian sat back, his smile disappearing. Something tightened in his chest. He shook his head. He’d forgotten what he was doing here.

He rose to his feet and went into the kitchen, pouring himself some water from the faucet. He had wasted this whole day. Sure, he had given up on the car rental angle, but he should have spent time thinking about a new approach. He could have been doing more research into the bank robbery in Chumash. If he couldn’t find incriminating information on his own, he was going to have to take Brindley’s deal.

The thought of finding a new approach was exhausting, though. He’d been at this investigation for five years. There weren’t any new angles. If there were, he’d have found them.

Brindley could give him the information in a moment. All it took was convincing Lalna not to testify. Not killing him. Not hurting him. Just convincing him.

Sighing, he rubbed at his face, massaging the tight ache out of his jaw. They were out of food unless they wanted to make pancakes again. “We should order take-out,” he said to Zoey. “I could—”

“I can pick something up,” she interrupted, turning away from the window. “What do you want?”

“I thought I could just run over to—”

“Last time you went to get coffee, it took you twelve hours.” Zoey came into the kitchen and picked up the keys from the counter. “I haven’t left this house since Saturday. I’m going.”

Rythian wanted to argue, but he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. “Pizza,” he said. “Get some pizza.”

“Okay. One veggie and one pepperoni? Or should I get three? I’ll get three.”

“Good,” Rythian said, distracted by the open door of the bathroom. He pushed the door open and stared down at the sink. It was a pedestal sink, and it would be really hard to hit an ankle monitor on that without actively trying.

“I’ll be back in forty-five minutes,” Zoey called to him, and he heard the kitchen door slam. He lifted his gaze to the mirror over the sink. Lack of sleep was making dark circles under his eyes. In the harsh light of the bathroom, his scars were like melted wax. They hurt because he’d been smiling. He felt suddenly ashamed of that, like he’d been caught at something depraved. Laughing with the man who’d shot him in the face. Playing a video game with someone who had nearly killed his partner.

“Okay,” he said belatedly, even though he could already hear the car starting.

He came back out of the bathroom and stood in the door between the kitchen and the living room. Lalna, still on the couch, was just setting the laptop aside. “Check out Malmö,” he said, grinning up at Rythian as Rythian approached. “Or I mean, where Malmö _used_ to—”

He cut off, lifting a hand defensively, when Rythian got too close too quickly. Rythian fisted a hand in Lalna’s ponytail and yanked his head back. Lalna tried to twist away, bringing his knee up between them. Rythian drew his gun and Lalna went very still. Rythian rested the barrel of the gun against Lalna’s jaw.

“If I’d known you were that attached to Malmö—” Lalna started.

“Your roommate was in on the flux heist with you, wasn’t she?” Rythian growled.

“She— what?” Lalna clearly hadn’t been expecting this line of questioning. His eyes were watering from Rythian’s grip on his hair. He tried to turn his head but was unable. Rythian planted his knees on the edge of the couch. Lalna’s knee was keeping them that measured distance apart, and his good hand was grabbing Rythian’s shoulder in a futile attempt to push Rythian away.

“Kim Richards,” Rythian said. “She’s lived with you for four years now. She’s been arrested but never convicted for a series of violent felonies. The day before the heist, I saw you and her leaving Vespucci Movie Masks. One mask ended up at the crime scene covered in your blood. If I search your apartment for a receipt, will I see that you bought two?”

“Nano hasn’t done anything,” Lalna said, although the shell-shocked tone in his voice told Rythian he was right. He squirmed again, pushing against Rythian’s chest with his knee. Rythian pushed the gun harder into Lalna’s cheek, and for a second had a vivid image of pulling the trigger and watching the bullet tear through Lalna’s mouth and out the other side. He blinked that away.

“What about Sjin Sykes? And his roommate Sips Lovasz? Were they involved?”

“Have you been stalking me?”

“Reports said as many as seven or eight armed gunmen took that flux shipment. Who else do you know that was in on it? Should I look through any other acquaintances you have?”

“What do you mean, you _saw_ us leaving the mask place? What were you doing there?”

“It won’t take much to prove Nano was there,” Rythian said. “She’s gone missing, anyway, which is suspicious of her, don’t you think? I will hunt her down and drag her back to Los Santos if I have to. If you don’t take the fall for this crime, she will.”

“You have no proof.” Lalna’s good hand, pressing into Rythian’s shoulder, lifted to push the gun out of his face. He’d clearly decided that Rythian wasn’t going to shoot.

“If you so much as touch this gun with your hand, I’m getting you for unlawful possession of a firearm.”

Lalna froze, his hand in midair. His gaze darted across Rythian’s face, maybe gauging his sincerity. Then, all at once, he let his hand drop limply back to the arm of the couch. He relaxed in Rythian’s grip—no, not relaxed, but gave in. He stopped pushing against Rythian with his knee. It almost pulled Rythian off balance, used as he was to the tension, but Lalna didn’t even take advantage of that.

“What do you want me to do,” he said dully.

Rythian should have felt triumph at that capitulation, but instead he felt a little ashamed, like he’d used dirty tactics to get it. “Refuse to testify. Change your mind.”

“I’ll go straight to prison. He’ll just have me killed in there.”

“Not if you refuse to testify against him.”

Lalna frowned. “You don’t know that.”

“I can suggest it.” That was a stretch. He had no way of talking to Brindley at all. But he would do his best.

Lalna rolled his eyes to catch Rythian’s gaze, since he couldn’t move his head. “And what do you get out of the deal? I don’t think it’s money.”

Rythian hesitated a long moment. What was the harm in telling him? “I get proof that you and Sjin did the robbery in Chumash.”

Lalna considered that. “I’ll already be in prison for life. What would it matter?”

Was that an admission of guilt? Lalna wasn’t pretending that there was no evidence. “I could still get Sjin,” he said. “It would matter to me.”

“Hold out for cash, at least.” Lalna shifted his leg and Rythian was suddenly aware of the oddly intimate position they were in. He relaxed his grip on Lalna’s hair, letting the ponytail slip through his grasp, and moved back. Lalna raised his head to look at him.

“So that’s all you want?” Lalna asked. “Just to see me in jail? You don’t want money for turning me in. You don’t want them to kill me. You don’t want to kill me yourself. You just want justice to be served, even if you have to break the law to make it happen?”

Rythian felt himself flush. “I want you to be punished for what you did to us.”

“And you made a deal with Xephos to get it, because you couldn’t find enough evidence yourself that I was involved. You stalked me. For how long? It’s been five years. What are you going to do with yourself if I go to jail?”

“I’ll move on,” Rythian said shortly.

“You don’t look like the kind of person who _moves on_.” His gesture encapsulated the gun, Rythian’s aggressive stance, and the words between them.

“Fuck you,” Rythian spat, his temper boiling over. “I had to have three surgeries because of what you did. I’m never going to have full feeling in my face again.”

“You’re a cop. You weren’t an innocent bystander. Most cops would have waited outside for the bank robbers to come out. You ran in. What did you expect would happen?”

Rythian hit him. When he felt his fist connect with Lalna’s jaw, he knew that he’d made a mistake, but it was too late. Lalna twisted away and brought a hand up but just barely caught himself before he could touch Rythian, clearly afraid of the consequences of hitting a cop. Rythian backed away from the couch, holstering his gun, holding his hands down at his sides.

Lalna clamped a hand onto his jaw. It was already swelling to match the rest of the bruises on his face. “That’s police brutality,” he said.

Not that police were ever charged with that sort of thing in Los Santos. Rythian flexed his hand, cursing inwardly. That had been stupid. He’d lost control.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though the words hurt to say. “I shouldn’t have done that. That was…that was a mistake.” No matter how many times he’d fantasized about doing exactly that, it had felt like an anti-climax.

Lalna probed gingerly at the bruise. Then, to Rythian’s confusion, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothing broken,” he said, although he winced when he worked his jaw. “I probably deserved that.”

Rythian stared at him, absently rubbing his knuckles with his other hand. “I should never have pulled a gun on you either. I could get suspended for that.”

Lalna shrugged again. “Well, I took your capital.”

“You—” Rythian started to say, and then stopped. “Wait, you took the whole city?”

Lalna burst out laughing and gestured toward the abandoned laptop. Rythian turned toward it, but as he did, something moved in the edge of his vision. He straightened, looking up out the front window behind the couch.

The window looked out onto the miserable front lawn, currently drenched with rain. There was nothing out there at the moment.

“What?” Lalna asked, picking up on Rythian’s alertness. He looked over his shoulder.

Rythian didn’t answer, moving to the window and shifting the blinds, keeping himself out of view. Nothing, still.

“Is someone out there?” Lalna got to his feet and peered out the side window.

“Not sure.” Rythian drew his gun again and went to the back kitchen window, peeking out in the yard. It was slashing down out there, so hard that the air had turned gray.

“I see someone,” Lalna said, his voice low. Rythian turned back and joined him. Out the side of the house, down the hill a bit, he saw a shadow move on the edge of the property. Although the air was hazy, he could see a man in a balaclava, holding some sort of gun.

“I see him,” Rythian said.

Lalna glanced at him, his expression very sober. “Do you have any other weapons?”

“No,” Rythian said, stepping away. “Go to the bedroom. Lay low.”

“I’m not going to trap myself upstairs—”

“Do what I say. Hide. I’ll take care of this.”

“There’s only one of you,” Lalna insisted.

“And one of them.” Rythian gave a pointed look at Lalna’s broken hand. “Go.”

“As far as you know. There’d be two of us if you’d give me a weapon. We’d outnumber them.”

“Go,” Rythian said firmly, and Lalna glowered at him but went for the stairs. Rythian took his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, then speed dialed Zoey.

A shadow flashed across the front window. Rythian ducked down against the couch to keep himself out of line of sight.

Zoey answered the phone. “Yeah?” she said, sounding like she was somewhere crowded.

“It’s me. There’s someone outside the house,” Rythian said in a low voice. “I need you to get back here now.”

“I can be there in twenty,” she said, her voice crisply professional. “Have you called dispatch?”

“No. I don’t think we can trust anyone right now.”

Thunder cracked outside. Lightning sent shadows across the floor. Rythian saw the silhouette of the man against the window of the front door. The door was locked, but the window was easily breakable.

“Ten-four,” she said. “I’m on my way.”

He hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket. He didn’t want to leap out the door, guns blazing, until he knew what was out there, but he also didn’t want to wait here for something to happen.

A second shadow went past the side window.

That decided him. He couldn’t wait for Zoey. He crept across the living room floor until he was next to the front door. The laptop was still playing the Civ V music, covering whatever sounds might have been going on outside. It was in full view of the window, though, and he wasn’t willing to move into the line of fire to stop it. He hoped Lalna was staying put upstairs and wasn’t planning on coming back down.

The person at the front door didn’t move. They were probably waiting for the second person to get into position. They would want to all strike at once. If he was going to move, he should move now, while they weren’t expecting it.

That line of thought had gotten him seriously injured once, but that didn’t make it less true.

Rythian squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then opened them and fired three shots through the glass of the front door. Barely a second later, he shoved the front door open with a squeal of disused hinges, shoving the person away. The man, his head a raw mess of gore, went down with a crash into the mud. Rythian squatted long enough to grab the man’s gun. Rain was pounding on the corrugated metal of the front porch roof. Keeping low, he crossed the porch, feeling the rotten wood sag under his feet.

There was no one else in the front yard. Down the hill, a van was parked where it had been out of sight from the front windows. He stepped off the porch and circled to his left around the edge of the house. The lawn had turned to mud, and as soon as he stepped out of the shelter of the porch, his clothes soaked against his skin.

He rounded the corner carefully, and just as he did, saw someone duck behind the propane tank. He jerked back, staying out of sight. Well, shit. He couldn’t shoot toward that, and couldn’t let himself get caught up in a firefight with that in between them. That would take out the whole house if it ignited. Maybe that was the intention. He waited for the other person to continue around the edge of the house.

Glass shattered inside the house, somewhere from the direction of the kitchen door. Rythian sprinted to the propane tank and peered around it to check that the coast was clear. He skirted it and went to the next corner, then looked into the back yard.

Two men in all black, with balaclavas covering their faces, were sprinting across the back yard toward the kitchen door, semi-automatics raised. More glass shattered.

“Freeze,” Rythian bellowed, taking a stance and aiming at the two of them. One of them spun around and squeezed off a few shots in his direction before running away. The other ducked down and disappeared around the corner. Rythian fired back, but his bullets just dug into the mud.

He sprinted across the back yard after them. Bullets shattered the kitchen window as he passed it, coming from a fourth person _already inside the house_ , and he ducked in reaction. Even though the bullets had missed, he dropped to his knees, feeling like a marionette with his strings cut. He could feel a hard, fractured buzzing in his head, and his tongue automatically went to his missing back teeth. Suddenly he was back in the bank in Chumash, on his knees on the gritty carpet, spitting out chunks of splintered tooth and choking on his own blood. The bullet had gone in one cheek and out the other, and he knew he was going to die, because you don’t get shot in the face and just survive it. Backup was ten or fifteen minutes away, and so much blood was running through his fingers that he couldn’t hold in, and—

The rain on his head brought him back. It wasn’t blood running down his face. Just water. He hadn’t been shot. He was in the yard. He was alone.

Gunshots.

They were in the house.

He struggled back up to his feet, but kept low so he wouldn’t be visible from the kitchen window. The kitchen door, just around the next corner of the house, was hanging open and the window in it had shattered, leaving glass all over the steps. A foot scraped just inside the doorway, shoes grinding down on broken glass, and he heard a man say “Did you get him?”

“Outside?” said a second. “He went down.”

“Go make sure.”

Rythian brought his gun up. As the man rounded the door frame, Rythian squeezed the trigger three times, aiming at center mass. The man yelped and jerked back, but not before Rythian heard the sound of bullet hitting Kevlar. So they had body armor.

“He broke my fucking ribs,” the man snarled. Rythian crept backward. He didn’t have body armor, so if it came to a shootout, he needed cover. The only cover out here was the propane tank. Rythian only had thirteen bullets in his clip, and had used six so far. Seven left.

He kept backing up until he reached the corner of the house again, then swung around behind it. He was next to the propane tank again. If anyone came around the front of the house, the tank would be between him and them. If anyone came around the back, the way he’d just come, he’d see them coming and have plenty of time to shoot.

The man stuck his arm out the doorway and sprayed bullets indiscriminately into the back yard, kicking up mud. He clearly wasn’t going to risk stepping out from cover again. Rythian couldn’t go back that way until those two were routed from the kitchen. The wall Rythian was leaning against didn’t have a window into the kitchen, but if he went around the propane tank, there would be a window into the living room. It might give him an advantage over whoever was in there, and from there, get at the two in the kitchen.

He circled the propane tank, keeping low, until he was under the living room window. When he carefully rose, peering through the screen and the barely-open blinds, he saw a man creeping toward the stairs, his back to Rythian.

Rythian pulled the trigger. The glass shattered but the bullet hit the wall beside the man, who whirled and squeezed off a couple shots back at him. Rythian ducked, and when he was able to look in again, the man was already running up the stairs. Rythian hopped the railing for the front porch and sprinted for the open front door.

“Cover me,” he heard one of the men say from the kitchen. Rythian reached the doorway, but someone sprayed gunfire out of it, keeping him back. There was the sound of running feet as someone came into the living room.

Feet thumped over the porch roof just over his head. It must be Lalna up there, fleeing from the intruders. Rythian kept his back against the wall beside the doorway as someone dropped from the porch roof and made a heavy landing in the mud five feet away from him.

But it wasn’t Lalna. A man in a balaclava, holding an empty ankle monitor, stared at him, startled. Rythian stared back, stunned.

“Jones isn’t in the house!” the man shouted, yanking a gun out of his belt. Rythian fired into the man’s face and used the distraction to run around the corner of the house, toward the empty driveway. He snatched up the ankle monitor that the man had dropped on the ground as he passed.

If Lalna wasn’t in the house, where the fuck had he gone? All those false alarms from earlier were adding up to a chilling whole. He’d figured out the trick to the monitor and he’d run as soon as Rythian had been distracted. That charming son of a bitch with all of his “nothing broken, I probably deserved it” smarm. Fucking _traitor_.

There was sound coming from the house, but Rythian vaulted the short fence and ran down the hill toward the river. Lalna wouldn’t run toward the road if people were looking for him. He’d go for the wilderness and take his chances with the cougars. At least, that’s what Rythian would have done, and he was no longer of the point of view that Lalna was an idiot.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning for a panic attack in this chapter.

### Lalna

Lalna sprinted down the bank to the river, already coated in mud to the knees. He’d had enough presence of mind to grab his flip-flops before he ran for it, but not much else.

The ankle monitor had turned out to be easy enough to pop open. It sent off a message as soon as it was unlocked, but as he’d discovered accidentally when he’d hit it on the kitchen table at breakfast, and deliberately when he’d taken it off and put it back on again in the bathroom at lunch time, the messages were easy enough to explain away. It helped that it was so sensitive. If they threw off enough false positives, people would start to disregard the messages.

He’d expected it to take a few more days of slowly wearing away at Rythian’s vigilance before he’d get a chance to actually test it out for real, but the arrival of the gunmen forced his hand. Rythian probably hadn’t even noticed the text message in the melee, and since Lalna had closed the bracelet again immediately after taking it off, he was hoping no one would realize he was missing until he was well away.

He skidded down the muddy slope to the edge of the river. This wasn’t like the river in the city, forced down a cement channel and overflowing with garbage. Out here the river ran natural, and probably wouldn’t even give him cancer, assuming he wasn’t downstream from a farm that used pesticides.

The day of rain had swollen the river enough that it was running too fast to cross, and was chest deep in the middle. Lalna stayed along the edge, keeping low in the hopes that the scrub brush would hide him from view of the road, and making sure to walk in the water so he wouldn’t leave footprints in the mud. If he followed the river long enough, he’d get to a farm and maybe he could hide out in an outbuilding somewhere until nightfall. He didn’t know the area in the slightest, but there had to be farms somewhere. Farms needed rivers, right? Anyway, if he didn’t find any farms, he knew if he kept going west he’d find the ocean eventually. All there was to the east was the desert and the prison again.

It was colder than he’d expected. Despite the heat of earlier in the week, the rain was cold and was sucking every bit of warmth from his skin. His flip-flops were shoveling up cold water with each step. The cast on his hand had soaked through. There was a bridge up ahead where he could get a break from the downpour, but he couldn’t stay too long. The sooner he got out of the area, the better.

What now? Try to hitch a ride back to the city and find Nano? Or should he just try to get out of San Andreas for good? If he didn’t testify against Xephos, he’d be safe enough on that front, unless the guy really held a grudge. But the police and the FIB would be looking for him forever. He wished he could have waited long enough for Nano to get him a ride out of here. He didn’t want to walk the whole way out of the state.

Lalna reached the bridge and ducked under it. It was a small bridge, more of a drainage tunnel than anything. He had to wade knee deep in the river to get through it. A car rumbled down the road overhead, crossing the bridge without stopping. Lalna stopped at the other side of the bridge and waited out of the rain. Should he wait for it to let up, or should he take advantage of the low visibility?

Another car went overhead, this one slower. Much slower. He couldn’t hear much over the noise of the rain, but he could hear it when the car pulled over on the other side of the bridge and stopped. He looked both ways, but the land here was too flat and open. They’d see him if he ran.

“—Head upriver—”

“No, he’ll—”

“—Along the road—”

Snatches of conversation. They were thirty or forty feet away from him. Would they check under the bridge or just fan out from here? He certainly wasn’t going to leave here until they moved on. Unless he could get into the river and ride the current until he was out of sight…? It would be like white water rafting without a boat.

“—Shoot on sight,” someone said, much closer than before. Lalna cringed, dropping down to a crouch, and then to his stomach in the mud. Two men appeared, half climbing, half sliding down the riverbank beside the bridge. They were across the river from him, but still very close.

The only thing concealing him was the fact that they were in the daylight and pouring rain and Lalna was in the shadows of the bridge. Well, Lalna grudgingly admitted, the dark clothes Rythian had bought him did help. He stayed still, willing them to move away.

“The closest farms are that way,” one of the men said, pointing away from the bridge, in the opposite direction from the way Lalna had been traveling. “If he didn’t follow the road, he probably went that way.”

The other one peered under the bridge, his eyes sweeping the riverbank on the other side. “You think he knew that?”

“You want to split up?”

The second man hesitated. “Is it true that there are mountain lions out here?” he said uneasily.

The first man laughed. “You’ve got a gun.”

“Which is great if they attack from the front.”

“So if you’re with me, how’s that better? You’re hoping it goes for me first?”

The second man shrugged. “It’s a fifty-fifty chance.”

The first man snorted. “Well, I’m going this way. Do what you like.” He started trudging up the river, away from Lalna.

The second man looked after him, then back under the bridge. Then, sighing, he turned and followed the first man.

Lalna squeezed his eyes shut. Thank god they’d thought he was smarter than he really was. He stayed on his stomach, watching them disappear up the river, and then waited a bit longer to make sure he didn’t hear anyone else up on the road. Then he got to his knees, pulling out of the mud with a sucking sound.

He crept out from under the bridge and eased up the embankment to see if there was anyone still up there. No, they had all cleared out. He slid back down and started walking again.

It was slow going. After an hour, he judged that he’d only gone a mile, since wading through the rushing water was exhausting, and he had to be extra careful every time the river got within sight of the road. His head throbbed, unhappy with all of the exertion. With every step he took, the buzz of adrenaline drained away, leaving him cold and empty.

He wasn’t going to make it to safety. Even if he found a farm, he would never be able to get transportation out of the state. He was too obviously suspicious, with his bruises and his disintegrating cast and his lack of a money or identification. He could try hitchhiking, although Brindley’s men would be expecting that, and again, he looked suspicious. He could walk, but just the stress of the afternoon was making his whole head pound, and in any case, San Andreas was an island. He’d eventually need to rent a boat or something.

His feet kept him moving forward of their own volition, almost outside of his power. He couldn’t turn back. Turning back meant facing Rythian and Zoey again. Even if he survived long enough to enjoy his immunity—which he strongly doubted—he knew that removing his ankle monitor was going to get him in severe legal trouble. He should have waited until he had an escape route planned. He’d thrown away that immunity by removing the monitor, and now he wasn’t going to make the escape he’d hoped for. And once they caught him again, escape was going to be so much more difficult.

He would rather face Brindley’s men than Rythian and Zoey. He would rather die than go to prison again.

But he kept moving forward. He knew that if he stopped, he would just sit down where he was and wouldn’t be able to start moving again. Better to keep moving mechanically forward, one foot in front of the other, feeling the river water pull all the warmth out of him. One foot in front of the other, and the sound of the river blurred into the sound of the rain, and time stretched.

 _Add lye to the mixture to neutralize the acid_ , a voice in the back of his head mumbled. _Bubble hydrogen chloride gas through the liquid meth so it makes hydrochloride salt._

Some time later, he rounded a bend in the river to find a barbed wire fence marking the boundary of a farm. Rows of corn hid him from the road. He climbed out of the water and up the embankment and started to follow the fence, leaving long, streaky footprints in the mud.

The rain had let up to a light drizzle at some point, increasing visibility. At the end of the corn field, a metal storage building hunched in the mud. A car was parked out in front of the building.

Rythian was leaning against the hood of the car, looking at his phone.

Lalna came to a dead stop, staring. There was _no way_ that they could have found him. How could anyone have known he was going to end up here? Was he dreaming?

He took a step back, then another, then turned and ran back the way he’d come, even though his legs were numb and his head felt like it was full of nails and his teeth were chattering in his skull. He nearly slipped in the mud, caught himself, and kept going.

Then something hit him in the back and sent him crashing down to the ground. Rythian was there, shouting something at him, wrestling his arms behind his back. Lalna kicked him off with almost inhuman strength, and he caught a glimpse of the surprise on Rythian’s face before he gained his feet and started running again.

He slipped and slid down the muddy embankment to the river, and when he reached the shore, he threw himself into the water without a second thought. The water was a shock of cold, and the current was stronger than he’d expected. He surfaced after only a moment and found himself already fifty feet downriver, and moving fast. Rythian dove in after him. Lalna went under again.

The water was white and frothy with turbulence. When he came up for air again, he was rapidly approaching a tumble of rocks. He grabbed at one of them and then bounced off, spinning off into the water again. Rythian wasn’t far behind him now.

Two hundred feet down the river, he was close enough to the embankment to pull himself to shore. He spat up river water and struggled to climb the embankment. Clods of grass broke free when he grabbed for them, and he was barely able to drag himself up out of the water before Rythian splashed onto shore behind him and grabbed his leg.

Lalna kicked at Rythian’s face, even as his mind shrieked at him about assaulting a cop. Rythian yanked him down the embankment again, into the shallow water, and shouted something. It was just noise in Lalna’s skull, with no meaning to it. Lalna struck out at him, not even realizing he was using his bad hand. Rythian caught his arm and forced it down into the mud, closing the cuffs around it. That only increased Lalna’s hysteria, and he bucked Rythian off, trying to crawl up the embankment again. Rythian grabbed Lalna’s broken fingers but Lalna could barely feel it. He jerked free, kicking Rythian in the ribcage.

He struggled through the mud and only belatedly realized that his wrist was still cuffed, and Rythian had attached the other cuff to his own wrist. Lalna twisted his hand, trying to take advantage of the broken fingers to force them through the hole of the handcuff. Rythian, his eyes wide, grasped Lalna’s wrist to keep him from doing himself more damage.

“Stop it, Lalna,” Rythian was saying. The words belatedly registered in his head. “Stop it.” He wrapped his arms around Lalna, pinning his arms to his sides.

Lalna was going to die if he stopped. He tossed back his head, trying to connect it with Rythian’s face, but he hit his sternum instead. The water, cold, lapped against his knees.

“You’re breathing too fast,” said Rythian, holding him so tightly that he couldn’t struggle. “Slow down. Hold your breath.”

Hold his breath? He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He thrashed against Rythian. Rythian shifted his arms and clamped one of his hands over Lalna’s mouth. Lalna tried to fight it but couldn’t get his mouth free. He felt like he’d been running a marathon, that he needed to gulp a mouthful of air. The air coming in through his nose wasn’t enough.

“Slow down,” Rythian said again. “It’s okay. I’m not letting go of you until you just slow down.”

Somehow, despite the hand over his mouth, he hadn’t suffocated yet. He closed his eyes, focusing on trying to get his breathing under control.

“Can you do me a favor?” Rythian asked. “Start counting backwards from one hundred in groups of six.” He carefully peeled his hand away from Lalna’s mouth.

“I can’t,” Lalna whispered against Rythian’s palm, opening his eyes again. “I can’t—can’t think—”

“Yes you can. One hundred, ninety-four—” Rythian waited for him to fill in the next number.

“I can’t,” Lalna insisted.

“What’s the next number?”

“Fuck you,” Lalna said, and tried to elbow him. Rythian didn’t let him. “Fuck. _Fuck._ Okay. Um. Eighty—um. Eight-eight.”

“Keep going.”

“Eighty-two. Seventy-six. Seventy.”

In a way, it was a lot like his mental recitation of meth production. He couldn’t focus on counting and on panicking at the same time. By the time he’d gotten to twenty-eight, his breathing was nearly normal, and the last of the panic had drained away, leaving him shaking with cold. His hand throbbed.

Last time he’d panicked this badly, he’d been a mechanic.

“Why did you run?” Rythian asked. “Did you think I was going to kill you?”

Lalna didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond, really. The question trapped behind his teeth was _how many years in prison is this going to get me?_ But he couldn’t ask that. He didn’t want to know the answer.

Rythian seemed to understand that he wasn’t going to respond, because he continued on. “I knew you’d go this way because the prison is in the other direction. That’s how I found you. I knew you’d try to find shelter at the first place you found off the river, and this was it. Zoey’s here. She brought the car. The other guys got away. I don’t know if they’re still looking for us, but I think we’re safe for now.”

He experimentally eased his grip on Lalna. Lalna didn’t fight it or try to escape. They were still cuffed together, anyway, and his hand was a ball of fiery pain now.

“I’m going to call her now and tell her where we are. We’ll head to the second safe house. Okay?”

The cold rain on Lalna’s head was washing the mud off his face, but he was uncomfortably cold and wet. _How many years in prison. I took off the ankle monitor. I ran. How many years._ His face felt rubbery and numb.

“Come on. Get up.” Rythian tried to sit him up, and Lalna let him. Getting to his feet was harder, since his head was fuzzy and he was shivering with the cold.

Rythian reached for his pocket, then stopped. “Shit,” he said out loud. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. The screen was black, and it didn’t respond when he thumbed the button. There was water behind the screen.

“We’ll have to walk to the bridge. I’m not swimming again. But it’s fine; she’s not far.” Rythian pushed Lalna forward, forcing him to start walking.

“How many years,” Lalna said out loud.

“What?”

“In prison. Will I get.” Lalna rubbed at his face with his good hand. “How many years.”

Rythian was silent a moment, maneuvering Lalna up the embankment. “Five,” he said finally. “Five years in prison.”

Lalna nodded, accepting that. He didn’t think he could speak again, anyway.

“Come on,” Rythian said, his voice inscrutably gentle. “The ankle monitor is in the car.”

He guided Lalna forward, one hand on Lalna’s shoulder. Lalna had lost one of his flip flips somewhere—probably in the river. He kept his head down and focused on the lopsided step-flop-step of his feet.

* * *

### Zoey

The second safe house was in Paleto Bay, as far north in San Andreas as you could go before hitting water. This house was much better than the last one, and was several decades newer. The decor was firmly set in the 70s, but at least it was clean.

Rythian and Zoey hustled Lalna into the house and sat him at the kitchen table. He immediately buried his face in his arms and gave every indication of not wanting to speak with anyone. The ankle monitor, which had beeped steadily during the whole car ride to let them know that they had left the inclusion zone, fell silent as soon as they entered the safe house.

They hadn’t spoken since the farm, but now that they were safe in the house, Zoey shot Rythian an uneasy look.

“Okay, so how did they find us?” she asked.

Rythian shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think they tailed me there, and I certainly didn’t tell anyone.”

“Neither did I.” Zoey rubbed at her arms. She was soaked through from the rain, and now that her adrenaline was fading, she was shivering with cold. “Could they have traced one of our phones? You were using the internet.”

“But they would have to know roughly where we were to triangulate our position,” Rythian said.

“Satellite imaging, maybe? How technologically capable is Brindley?” Zoey pulled a handful of paper towels from a roll on the counter and started trying her face and arms. “Does he have drones?”

“I don’t know,” Rythian admitted. “If he has satellite imaging, he can find us anywhere.”

Zoey poked at Lalna’s shoulder gingerly. “How about you? Did you tell someone where we were?”

Lalna didn’t respond. After his generally friendly self over the last week, the abrupt change today had been unnerving. Rythian seemed concerned about it in a way she hadn’t seen before. Or—no, that wasn’t true. She’d seen it before, when she was in the hospital, convinced she was going to lose her arm, so on edge that she was unable to sleep. She just never expected he’d give that look to anyone he hated as much as Lalna.

“I don’t understand what their plan was,” Rythian said. He took a page from Zoey’s book and started mopping himself off with paper towels as well. “An armed assault on a safe house is too obviously witness tampering. How would Brindley have explained that away? Would he try to pretend someone else was behind it?”

“Well.” Zoey bit her lower lip. “It’s not that far fetched that someone else would have been behind it.”

Rythian stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s not a secret that you want revenge against Lalna. If he ends up shot dead while in your custody, while I’m out getting food…” Zoey looked unhappy. “Or maybe they would have killed you both and taken the bodies. That way it would look like you had taken Lalna and escaped. Assuming no one ever hears from you again, it would be easy to prove that you were behind it.”

Rythian’s expression turned stormy, but he remained silent. After a pause, he nodded slowly.

“It makes sense,” he said. “That would mean they were watching to see you leave.”

“Or not. I suppose I have as much a reason as you do to get revenge.” Zoey shrugged. “But I think what that means is, Brindley isn’t banking on you turning Lalna in. He just plans to use you to take the fall.”

Rythian ran a hand through his short hair and swore unhappily, turning away. Zoey tossed her soggy paper towels into the bin.

“We need to find a first aid kit,” she said. “There has to be one in here somewhere.”

Rythian looked at her, then down at Lalna. He nodded and silently turned for the living room.

He ended up finding a first aid kit in the upstairs bathroom. By that time, Zoey had boiled tea and had encouraged Lalna to sit up. She wiped down his broken hand carefully with a damp paper towel, and then Rythian sat at the table and bandaged it as best he could with the sterile gauze in the kit.

Lalna’s eyes remained fixed on the table top, even after Zoey pushed a cup of tea at him and draped a towel over his shoulders. He remained docile while Rythian fixed his hand.

Finally, when Rythian taped off the gauze and began cleaning away the detritus, Lalna cleared his throat.

“I called Nano,” he said.

Both of them turned and stared at him. He didn’t raise his gaze from the table, but he seemed to know they were looking at him, because he added, “I figured out your passcode on your phone, Zoey.”

Rythian groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “I told you none of your friends would be too noble—”

“She wouldn’t do that to me,” Lalna insisted roughly.

“But you told her where you were,” Zoey said.

“I didn’t know the exact address, but…” Lalna trailed off. “Yes.”

There was a silence. Zoey pulled out the other chair at the table and sat down.

“Well, at least we know what alerted them,” she said. “We can avoid it in the future.”

“What else did you tell her?” Rythian asked.

Lalna shrugged listlessly. “Just that I was in Harmony and that I needed to get out of there.”

“How did you take off the ankle monitor?”

Lalna shrugged again. “It’s not that difficult.”

“Show me. There’s no point in keeping it a secret now. We can’t rely on the monitor to keep you from fleeing anymore.”

Lalna shook his head and sighed. “I can’t show you right now. I had a screwdriver back at the house.” His eyes shifted to Rythian for a moment before flicking back down. “The unit has a light detector to see if you opened it, but if you wrap it in a towel and move fast enough, it just thinks it’s a temporary interruption.”

Zoey sighed and stood up. “Okay, I’m getting a hot shower. I hope there are spare clothes around here somewhere because these are too wet.” She looked down at the both of them. “No fighting while I’m gone,” she added. Neither of them responded.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor. The bathroom was at the top of the stairs, and had a few spare towels. She kicked off her sopping wet shoes and pulled her phone out of her pocket. It didn’t look like it had been damaged by the water at all. There was a series of texts on the screen, all from the monitoring service. The first let her know of the brief interruption, when Lalna took off the device. The next several were repeated texts warning her that Lalna had left the inclusion zone.

She paused, staring at the screen. The ankle monitor had GPS in it, of course. It sent out a ping every five minutes to the monitoring service, letting them know of its location, and every one minute after a violation was detected. The monitoring company knew exactly where Lalna was at all times.

Picking up her phone again, she stepped out of the bathroom. “Rythian?” she called, starting down the stairs.

He came to the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah?”

“How hard would it to be to bribe the monitoring company to tell you where Lalna was being kept?” She reached the bottom of the stairs and flashed her phone screen at him. “They know where he is at all times. They know the location of all of the safe houses, because those are his inclusion zones.”

“And it knows we just entered one, because the alarm stopped beeping,” Rythian said, catching on. He spun around, heading back for the kitchen. “What kind of screwdriver do you need? Flat or Phillips? Will a butter knife work?”

Lalna straightened up, looking from one of them to the other. “What’s going on?”

Zoey bolted back up the stairs to grab a towel and her abandoned shoes. When she got back down, Rythian was going through the silverware drawer.

“If they know you’ve taken it off, they’ll know we figured it out,” Rythian was saying. “We have to make it look like another blip.”

“So it’s not Nano?” Lalna asked.

“It could still be, but I’m not going to risk it,” Rythian said. He handed Lalna a butter knife. “Take it off.”

Lalna fixed his eyes on Rythian. “If I—am I going to—”

“You won’t get in trouble for this. I’m telling you to do it,” Rythian said soberly. “Go on.”

Lalna hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. Zoey turned off the kitchen lights and handed Lalna a towel. He wrapped the towel around his ankle, fumbling one handed until Rythian knelt to help him. Lalna began rummaging under the towel with the butter knife.

“We can’t go to any of the other safe houses,” Zoey said. “We have to assume they’re all compromised.”

“Where to, then? My flat? Yours? A hotel?”

“Unless we can pay in cash, our credit cards will give us away at the hotel,” Zoey said. “And they have to be watching our flats.”

Lalna set the closed ankle monitor on the table, along with the butter knife. Zoey grabbed the car keys off the counter.

“We have to move,” she said. “They could be on their way right now.”

“They could already be out there,” Rythian said, picking up the ankle monitor. “If you were right about them watching for you to leave before, they could try that again.”

“But I know about the attempt. They’ll have to kill both of us now if they want to keep up the charade.” She looked toward the window. It was late afternoon now, still stormy. Unlike the last house, this one was close to a street and there were other houses within sight.

Rythian took the monitor into the living room and shoved it under a couch cushion. “Okay, then. Out to the car.”

Zoey pushed open the door and eyed the street carefully before stepping out. She was still miserably wet and cold, but it was going to have to wait.

“Okay, who do know who we haven’t talked to in a while?” Rythian asked as they all piled into the car again, with Lalna in the back. “Zylus? Ravs?”

“What about that crazy paranoid guy with all that surveillance stuff?” Zoey said. “The one who lived in East Los Santos? Is he still around?” She started the car and pulled out onto the street.

“Yeah, Honeydew is still around.” Rythian buckled his seatbelt. “East Los Santos it is.”

* * *

### Nano

“I’m sorry, Mr. Strife doesn’t have any openings in his schedule today.” The secretary hesitated, his hands hovering over the keys. “I can get you in next week, if that’s okay, Ms…?”

Nano straightened up to her full height—five feet even—and glared at him. “Tell him I have some information for him about YogLabs. He’ll want to see me. And it’s Richards. Kim Richards.”

The secretary nodded, unimpressed. “Mm-hm. He’s booked solid today, Ms. Richards.”

“Tell him I’m here, at least,” Nano begged. She had dressed up for this. She never dressed up.

The secretary eyed her, then lifted the phone. “There’s a Ms. Richards here who would like to speak with you. She says she has some information for you about YogLabs. Would you like me to send her in, or make an appointment?”

Nano waited impatiently during the pause. Then the secretary put the phone down.

“He says he can speak to you some time next week,” he said.

Nano let out a frustrated growl and stormed past the secretary, to the closed door behind him. She threw it open and stormed through.

Her hopes of a dramatic entrance were somewhat thwarted, as Strife’s office was not actually through those doors. There was a hallway there with more branches leading off of it. She hurried until she found the door marked W. Strife, CEO, and pushed that open.

The office was huge, with views of the city on two sides. Strife was standing behind his achingly modern desk, one hand hovering over an alarm panel, clearly having already been warned of her intrusion. He was the only person in the room.

“Before you push any silent alarms, let me speak,” Nano said, holding up her hands to show they were empty. “I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Brindley.”

Strife eyed her, then took his seat again. “I have an appointment in five minutes,” he said. “You have until then.”

Nano came forward to the two clear acrylic chairs in front of his desk. Instead of sitting down, she rested her hands on the back of one.

“I know that Strife Solutions and YogLabs are rivals,” she said. “I’m sure you know something about what he was arrested for.”

Strife lifted his chin silently, the vaguest of acknowledgments.

“If Mr. Brindley got his way, he would make Strife Solutions obsolete. I didn’t really realize what the flux was for until these past few days, but I’ve done my research now, Mr. Strife. He would have put you out of business, and done a lot more terrible things.”

“Xephos told me this himself,” Strife said. “This isn’t news.”

“Okay, then, let me tell you something you don’t already know. I was one of the people who stole the PHLX-2 shipment.” Nano held her breath and waited, praying that she hadn’t misjudged Strife.

This time Strife’s eyebrows shot up. He leaned forward and pressed a button on his phone. Nano straightened, ready to run, but he only said, “Alex, cancel my next appointment, would you?” Then he gestured to the seat that Nano was gripping.

“Please, sit. Let’s talk.”


	15. Chapter 15

### Rythian

Honeydew Lane’s house sat at the corner of a busy intersection, next to a tattoo parlor. The front yard was plastered with NO TRESPASSING signs, and all of the windows had been blacked out. Rythian knocked on the door while Lalna and Zoey stayed in the car.

After a couple minutes of knocking, a speaker next to the door crackled to life.

“What do you want, detective?”

Rythian looked around until he saw the security camera overhead. “I need a place to take shelter for a little while,” he said. “I have a star witness, and our safe houses have been compromised.”

“I can see that. Jones looks like he went a few rounds with a prizefighter. For once, Hellstrand, you’re the prettiest man here.”

Rythian rubbed at his chin and glanced toward the car, where Zoey and Lalna were both watching him. “You know Jones?”

“I know everyone. Why should I let you in and take on the attention of the FIB?”

“Knowing you, I figured you’d have some way around that.”

There was a pause, and then a sigh. “Okay. Get rid of that car, though. I don’t want it within ten blocks of here, and I don’t care if that means you have to walk back.”

“Thanks,” Rythian said sincerely, and went back to the car.

Zoey and Lalna went into the house while Rythian took the car to a 24/7 and left it there. By the time he had walked back, Lalna and Zoey were crammed into the tiny living room of the house, munching on Jaffa cakes.

“Sit down,” Honeydew ordered, coming into the room with a pot of tea. Rythian sat on a footstool by the window. Honeydew set the tray down on the coffee table, which looked like he’d found it on the side of the road.

Simon “H0n3yd3w” Lane was a little person. His bushy red beard was full of crumbs and he was wearing an old Willow t-shirt that had seen a lot of wear. The last time Rythian had seen him, he had been brought in to advise the LSPD on vulnerabilities in their firewall, and he still worked as a white hat hacker for the LSPD and FIB, although Rythian had a feeling that he did some black hat hacking as well.

“It’s good to see you again,” Rythian said.

“No it’s not,” Honeydew said, and patted him on the shoulder. “But I appreciate the comment.” He sat down and looked around at them. “Now, who wants to tell me how you shitlords fucked up this badly?”

“We’re not sure,” Zoey said. “Lalna used my phone to call his flatmate, so she could have turned us in.”

Lalna had drawn a breath halfway through her statement, clearly ready to argue that Nanosounds wasn’t his girlfriend, but he subsided at her words and then shrugged at Honeydew. “You know Nano. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Anyone would do that for three point five mil,” Honeydew said. At Lalna’s surprise, he added, “Yes, that’s the price on your head.”

“I’m worth that much?” Lalna said.

“Xephos’s freedom is worth that much,” Honeydew corrected. “Or more. Don’t get me wrong, I love that bastard to death, but he never did value anyone as highly as he did himself.”

“You know him?” Zoey asked.

Honeydew’s expression clouded. “We go back,” he said shortly.

“But what about my ankle monitor?” Lalna said. “They could have found me through the GPS on that, right?”

Honeydew’s gaze sharpened. “You didn’t bring it here, did you?”

“It’s at the second safe house,” Rythian said.

“Good. I can’t believe the FIB thought it was a good idea to put a GPS tracker on someone in witness protection.” Honeydew chewed his lower lip. “If you had brought it here, I could spoof the signal and have them think it was coming from anywhere in San Andreas, but I’m glad you didn’t. It’s less work for me that way.” He grinned, revealing crooked teeth.

“Could you figure out which one of those gave us up? Nanosounds or the ankle monitor?” Zoey said. “So we know which one we can trust in the future?”

“Don’t trust anything,” Honeydew said. “Never, never, never, _never_ trust anything. But yeah, I can do some digging.” He giggled. “It’s what I’m best at.”

“Can you help us find a place to lay low?” Rythian asked. “I’m sure you don’t want house guests for the next six months.”

Honeydew’s eyes fixed on him. “You’re going to owe me big, you now.”

“I understand.”

“The LSPD is going to owe me big.”

“We are.”

“Good. As long as that’s clear.” Honeydew settled back in his chair. “Now who wants tea?”

* * *

### Lalna

Lalna settled down in a chair next to Honeydew’s desk. The desk was covered in Frito dust and Sprunk cans, and the layer of beard hair in between the keys of the keyboard was truly horrendous.

“How are they all doing?” Lalna asked quietly, although Rythian and Zoey were in the kitchen, clanging pots and pans.

“Who are we talking about?” Honeydew asked, frowning at the screen. He had the financial accounts of the monitoring company up and was combing through to find potential bribes.

“Nano. Sips. Sjin. You know.”

“You sure you should be naming all your accomplices to me?” Honeydew looked over at him. “I told you, don’t trust anyone.”

“You can’t convince me that you don’t already know all about the heist,” Lalna said. “I just want to know if Xephos has done anything to them.”

Honeydew turned back to the screen. “They’re all alive and well, although there’s a bit of infighting going on about the missing tanks. Sips’s meth lab went up in a fireball a few days ago. The Stunt Lads are considering filing for bankruptcy.”

“None of them got paid.” Lalna rubbed at his face. “Damn.”

“You didn’t finish the job.” Honeydew closed the tab and opened another one. “It’s a damn good thing you didn’t, too. Do you know what Xephos was going to use those tanks for? Crowd control at a level we can only marvel at. He’s done terrifying things with behavior modification chips and brainwashing drugs and—” He cut himself off, rubbing absently at a scar on the back of his head. “I know that probably sounds like crazy talk, but what flux does isn’t theoretical, and once he got his hands on the formula, I don’t even want to think of what he would do with it.” He sighed and shook his head. “And he used to be one of the good guys. Anyway, it’s a good thing those tanks went missing. I hope they stay missing.”

“Do you think Xephos should go to prison?” Lalna asked.

“He’s too pretty for prison.” Honeydew glanced at Lalna and then quirked his mouth apologetically. “I mean, it won’t do him any good, that’s for sure, but it’ll help everyone else. Even with your testimony, though, I’m not convinced he’ll get a lot of time behind bars. He has too much money and too many connections.”

“So my testimony doesn’t really matter. If I were to just…disappear, things would be better for everyone.”

“If you’re asking me to help you flee over the border, the answer is no. I work too closely with the FIB. They’ll just ask me to track you down again, and I’ll do it. They pay me a lot of money to do my job.”

Lalna looked around the tiny room. “I can tell.”

“Fuck off. I like this house.” Honeydew stretched his arms over his head. “Even if this whole debacle only results in fines and government oversight for YogLabs, it’s worth it. You committed to this. Now go through with it. After it’s over, I’ll help you disappear.”

* * *

### Smiffy

Smiffy sat at the kitchen table, his feet up on the chair opposite him. His laptop sat on the table in front of him, its fans running madly as it rendered the video he had just spent the last ten hours editing.

Ross was in the living room with Sips, where they were playing Rust on their respective laptops. Sips had integrated himself into their household over the last week, although Smiffy couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that it had happened. He also didn’t ask why Sips wasn’t spending any time with Sjin anymore, because it wasn’t his business and also he didn’t care.

Trott was sound asleep on the couch, having already finished his portion of the editing. They needed to get the next episode out soon so they could start making money again, and the three of them had been working pretty much nonstop on the videos, while Sips lounged around, drinking beer and shooting the shit and flirting outrageously with everyone.

Smiffy rocked back in his chair and then swung his legs to the floor, heaving a sigh. He should probably shower. It had been a while. He also might piss on Trott’s toothbrush, because he still hadn’t forgiven him for pawning the Vacca. The last week had been a parade of passive-aggressive and aggressive-aggressive pranks to express his displeasure.

As he got to his feet, a knock came at the door. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sniffed at his armpit, then decided that whoever dared knock on the door at this house in the morning (well, afternoon) deserved him at his foulest. He strolled to the door and opened it.

Nano stood outside, in her bulky black hoodie with the hood up over her hair. She started talking before he had even fully opened the door.

“I have a deal for you, so don’t even think about turning me in for some stupid reward until you’ve heard it, because you’ll be missing out on a lot of money.”

Smiffy stared at her, then spent a moment gratuitously scratching his balls before he stepped back.

“Come on, then. You have ten minutes before I call Turps.”

Nano squeezed past him into the house. She eyed the laptop, and then went into the living room. Ross looked up and blinked at her.

Sips turned around to see what the distraction was, and then gave a half wave. “Hey,” he said, going back to his game.

“Thanks for ratting me out to Turps, asshole,” Nano said, her eyes narrowing.

“Eh.” Sips shrugged. “You’d have done the same to me.”

“I would never—okay, you know what? Never mind.” Nano straightened her shoulders and looked around at Smiffy and Ross. “I have something more important to talk about. Would someone wake up Trott?”

“Hang on,” said Smiffy. He went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water, then added some ice cubes to it for good measure. He came back out to the living room and upended the entire cup over Trott’s face. Trott woke, spluttering and swearing.

“What the _fuck_ ,Smiffy,” Trott said, lifting the edge of his shirt to wipe his face. “I get it, okay? But it _wasn’t your car_.”

Nano cleared her throat. Trott turned to her, then pulled his shirt back down. “Uh, hi,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Nano sat down primly on the edge of a chair. “I talked to Will Strife. You know, the CEO of Strife Solutions? He’s a rival of YogLabs.”

“Weapons manufacturer, right?” Trott said, raking his wet hair out of his eyes.

“Yup.” Nano looked around at all of them. “Apparently Mr. Brindley approached him about investing in his whole flux deal, and he hadn’t gotten around to accepting yet. What Brindley was going to do with the flux would make Strife’s business more or less obsolete, so he’s not sad to see Brindley arrested, but he’s still concerned that someone—namely the FIB, or Brindley himself if Lalna doesn’t testify—will find the plans again and use them to manufacture the crowd suppressant.”

“And we should care why?” Smiffy asked.

Nano turned to him. “Because he’s willing to pay for us to go to YogLabs and destroy those plans so no one can use them,” she said. “He’s willing to pay _quite a lot_.”

“How much are we talking?” Sips drawled.

“The same as Brindley was offering us to steal the flux in the first place,” Nano said.

“So we have to do a job twice to get paid once,” Smiffy said. “Hey, Nano, did you find those tanks yet?”

“No,” Nano said cooly. “You?”

“If YogLabs had plans to manufacture flux, they wouldn’t have kept it a secret, right?” Trott said. “I mean, there could be tons of files on it. It might be impossible to destroy them all.”

“Strife doesn’t think so, and I agree,” said Nano. “Brindley didn’t want to incriminate himself by making all these plans to improve on a secret formula just before someone stole the secret formula. It would be a little too convenient. He probably planned to wait until after the heist to make plans, when he could reasonably say that one of the thieves had leaked the formula.”

“But he talked to investors before the heist,” Trott said. “Wouldn’t that incriminate him?”

“Yes, but Strife said he was really vague on the details. Strife said that he might have been the only investor to catch on that they were even discussing flux.”

“So the plans are probably contained somewhere secret,” Trott said. “And all we have to do is break into one of the most secure science facilities in the city and steal them?”

“No,” Nano said. “Not steal them. We just have to destroy them.”

* * *

### Lalna

Honeydew spent a while ferrying cardboard boxes and trash bags full of unknown items off the sofa before he unfolded it into a sofa bed. That slept two, and removing the cushions from an armchair and laying them on the floor took care of the third. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was a horizontal surface, and that was all they really needed.

“This is like the riddle of the farmer with the fox, the goose and the grain,” said Zoey, sitting on the edge of the sofa bed and unbinding her hair from its ponytail. “Rythian can’t sleep in bed with you because he’ll smother you with a pillow, and he can’t sleep in bed with me because he’ll just be aching with sexual tension.” At Rythian’s glare, she added, “Or, wait, is it the other way around?”

“I don’t care where I sleep,” said Lalna. “I probably won’t even go to bed until you get up.”

“Take the bed,” Rythian said stiffly, not looking at Lalna. “I’ll take the floor.”

Zoey winked at him. “You sure you don’t want the sofa bed? I know how much you like them.”

Rythian sighed and began arranging the pillows on the floor. Zoey grinned at Lalna, who shrugged and brushed some Cheeto dust from one of the sofa pillows.

Honeydew appeared in the doorway, a pile of clothes in his arms. “I don’t know if this is going to fit any of you,” he said. “The shorts might, anyway.” He set the pile down on the sofa bed.

Zoey picked through the clothes and pulled out a t-shirt with a giant kitten face on the front. She held it up to herself. “This is amazing,” she said. “Rythian, you have to put this on.”

“I don’t think it’ll fit,” Rythian said. “Is there, uh, a different one in there?” He picked gingerly through the pile, but all of the shirts were equally tacky.

Zoey threw the kitten shirt at him. “Put it on. Come on. I’ll take a picture for your LifeInvader profile.”

Rythian caught the shirt. “I don’t have a LifeInvader profile.”

Zoey grinned. “You have twelve friends now!”

Rythian held up the shirt and studied it, then looked at her. “Who?”

“Me, Fi, Lalna,” Zoey said. “A few of the guys in Major Crimes. The chief and the night janitor. Oh, and that girl who lived next door to us, the one who had the crush on you?”

Rythian wadded up the t-shirt in his hands. “How many friends do you have?”

“Well—” Zoey looked sheepish. “More than that.”

“How many?”

“Five hundred. But I’ve had it a long time.”

“Five _hundred_?”

“I only have three-fifty,” Lalna offered helpfully. From Rythian’s flat expression, it hadn’t been well received.

“Give it time,” Zoey said. “I bet we can get that number into the double digits in a week.”

“I don’t need pity follows,” Rythian said. “Because I _don’t have a LifeInvader account_.” He abruptly turned his back on them and peeled his damp shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Muscles shifted under the skin of his back as he pulled on the kitten shirt.

Zoey cleared her throat quietly. Lalna blinked and looked at her. She raised her eyebrows at him and he ducked his head, flushing, realizing she’d caught him staring.

Rythian turned back around, tugging down the shirt. Zoey immediately started laughing. The shirt was a bit baggy on him, although tight across the shoulders. The kitten face was ludicrously large across his chest.

“It’s nice! I like it!” giggled Zoey. Rythian looked down at himself.

“At least it’s dry,” he said, smoothing his hands down his stomach. Lalna caught himself staring again and abruptly averted his gaze.

“I’ll be back,” Lalna said. He snagged a shirt and a pair of shorts from the pile, then went to find the bathroom to change, despite Zoey’s protests.

After the beds were set up, Lalna retreated to the kitchen. Honeydew had fished out a broken radio for him to play with to keep him quiet, so he hunched over that and got lost in the electronics for a while. He really wanted to contact Nano, but he was wary now. Had she turned on him? She would never have done that… right?

Several hours later, he resurfaced from the project and rubbed at his eyes, blinking. His fingers were cramping from working with all the tiny screws.

“Does it work?”

He looked over his shoulder. Rythian was in the doorway. He couldn’t tell how long Rythian had been there, watching him. The thought made him feel hot and a little nervous, like a rush of caffeine.

“No, it doesn’t work. Yet,” Lalna said. He put down the screwdriver and stretched until his spine popped. His own t-shirt had a picture of a kitten riding a unicorn.

“How’s your hand doing?” Rythian asked quietly.

Lalna flicked a glance at his broken hand, which was throbbing with a faint but constant pain. “It’s okay,” he said. Rythian came into the room and pulled out the chair opposite him.

“Was prison really that bad?” he asked, which seemed like a complete non sequitur, although maybe he was thinking of Lalna’s panic attack the day before.

Lalna bristled. “Was being shot in the face really that bad?” he replied. As soon as he said it, he regretted it—whatever small sign of openness had been in Rythian’s expression closed off at his words. He hunched a little in his seat, focusing his eyes on the radio between them.

“I guess that was a stupid question,” Rythian said, not nearly as angry as Lalna had expected him to be.

Lalna toyed with the screwdriver, not looking up. “You have experience with people freaking out,” he said. It wasn’t a question, really.

“I’ve seen it happen,” Rythian said carefully. “I’ve done it myself.”

“Because of your—” Lalna waved a hand at his own chin. “Your face?”

“Because of my face,” Rythian agreed. His voice was sardonic instead of irritated.

“Does it make you feel like you’re never going to be safe again?” Lalna asked, before he could think better of it. “I mean, like, you never really thought about how easy it was for bad things to happen. There used to be a…a cushion or something, that made you not think about it. And now it’s not there.”

Rythian was silent. When Lalna looked up, Rythian was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“Never mind,” Lalna said. “It was stupid. I didn’t say it right.”

“You feel like the world isn’t as good a place as it used to be,” Rythian said. “It betrayed you somehow, and it’s never going to be the same.”

Lalna rubbed at his chin and gave a weak, self-deprecating smile. “Huh. Thought it was just me.”

“It was your own actions that put you in prison, though,” Rythian said. “You wouldn’t have been there if you hadn’t stolen a car.”

“You wouldn’t have been shot if you hadn’t gone into the bank,” Lalna returned.

“It was my job,” Rythian said.

“And stealing a car was mine.” Lalna gave a tight shrug. “Except I never got paid because I got caught.”

Rythian frowned. He was cupping his coffee mug in both hands, although it appeared to be empty.

“You never mentioned that someone hired you.”

“No.” Lalna laughed bitterly. “At the time I thought narcing on someone was worse than going to prison.”

“Did Brindley hire you to steal that car?”

“That’s way too small time for him.”

“Did he hire you to hit the bank in Chumash?”

Lalna met his gaze. “I never robbed a bank in Chumash.”

Rythian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. I forgot.”

There was another silence, but it felt to Lalna like something had changed between them. Maybe it had changed on the river bank, when Rythian told him to count down from one hundred. He couldn’t really define what it was that had changed. It was some sort of mutual understanding, perhaps. He wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘respect’ or ‘esteem,’ but ‘tolerance’ seemed to fit.

Rythian rested both his elbows on the table and sighed, looking like he was warring with himself over whether to say something. Finally, he said, “There’s a statute of limitations.”

“What?”

Rythian rubbed absently at his scarred cheek. “The statute of limitations for grievous bodily injury is three years. You can’t be arrested for shooting me. The window for that has expired.”

“I didn’t shoot you,” Lalna said automatically. Rythian raised his eyebrows at him.

“The statute of limitations for bank robbery is five years.”

Lalna frowned, counting back. “So is that expired too?”

“Not yet. This autumn. Around the time that the trial is supposed to happen.”

Lalna considered that. “So if you want to arrest me for that, you have to do it fast.” He hesitated, then added, “The deal from Xephos must be tempting.”

“It’s not,” Rythian said. “If I stop you from testifying at the trial, I’ll face witness tampering charges. I don’t know if he has anything conclusive, anyway.”

“Then what’ll you do?”

Rythian shrugged. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes with both hands and sighed, looking exhausted. Lalna felt a surge of sympathy mingled with guilt. He wished suddenly that he could give Rythian whatever justice he was looking for. If only that didn’t have to be at his own expense.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you were hurt,” Lalna said, meaning it. Rythian looked up at him and studied his face for a moment, then nodded, accepting that.

The clock over the stove ticked into the quiet. Through the closed door of Honeydew’s room, Lalna could hear him snoring. Rythian rested his elbows on the table, looking lost in thought.

Lalna pushed back his chair and stood up, catching Rythian’s attention. “It’s late,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

“Earlier than usual?” Rythian said.

“I can’t focus anymore.” Lalna started to slip past him. Rythian held up an arm, hooking him around the waist and pulling him to a stop. Something lurched in Lalna’s stomach, but just as fast as Rythian had grabbed him, he let him go.

“For what it’s worth,” Rythian said. “I’m sorry you went to prison.”

“Thanks,” Lalna said. He hesitated, wanting to—well, he wasn’t sure what. But Rythian turned away, looking back down at the table, and the moment was lost.

* * *

### Fiona

Fiona got out of the restaurant late Wednesday night. The smell of raw onions and garlic had soaked into her hands, despite all of her hand washing. The smell was pretty much permanent by now. Normally she used a scented hand lotion so she didn’t have to subject Zoey to the smell, but since Zoey was away this week, she didn’t bother.

Her car was one of the last ones in the lot. She’d parked under a street light out of habit, since she generally left this late. There was a black car parked in the spot next to hers, which was suspicious enough that she came to a dead stop ten feet away, slipping her keys between her knuckles.

“Fiona Saberial?”

The voice came from the shadows to her right. She whipped around. There was a man standing there, holding a gun down at his side.

“She left already,” Fiona said. “Early shift.”

“Funny.” He gestured at her with the gun. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant. I just have a few questions for you.”

“I told you, she’s not here. I can give you her number if you want.” Fiona squeezed her keys in her fist and desperately scanned the lot for means of escape. She couldn’t outrun a bullet, and her car was still ten feet away. She couldn’t scream for help, because no one was around to hear. The only weapon she was carrying was a tiny can of mace on her keychain, but that wouldn’t do her any good here with the man standing so far away.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” the man asked.

“I dunno. Work?”

The man sighed. He was tall, with a bushy brown beard and short hair. There was a bandage on one arm as if he’d recently been injured. “I said this doesn’t have to be unpleasant, but it can be.”

Fiona shrugged. “I don’t know where my girlfriend is. I’m not lying about that.”

“See, that’s the thing,” said the man. “You don’t want that to be your answer. Because I’m looking for Ms. Proasheck, and if you don’t know where she is, you’re going to have to help me convince her to tell me. And that means you have to come with me.”

Fuck. Zoey had warned her about this. She knew that Zoey and Rythian had set up a schedule of guard duty at the safe house where Lalna was being kept. That was all Fiona had been told, and all she really wanted to know for just this reason. She didn’t even know when Zoey was meant to be working or not, though she obviously was right now, since she wasn’t home.

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” Fiona said. “Pro-as-heck? What kind of a name is that?”

The man raised the gun finally and aimed it directly at her face. “Into the car. Now.”

“I can call her. You two could, uh, chat?” Fiona reached slowly for her pocket where she kept her phone.

“Stop,” the man said. He advanced. “Hands in the air.”

She raised her hands, her keys jingling. He came forward and reached into her pocket, pulling her phone out.

“What’s the code to—” the man started to say.

Fiona squirted the can of mace into his eyes, grabbing his wrist at the same time and trying to force his gun down. He let out a choked off cry, jerking his hand and the gun away. Fiona drilled the steel toe of her boots into his shin as hard as she could.

Behind them, the car door opened and heavy footsteps came running toward them. Fiona shoved the gunman away from herself and wheeled around, but not fast enough. A fist connected with her gut, forcing the air out of her lungs. She doubled over and the second man yanked the keychain and can of mace out of her hand. He delivered a second blow to the back of her head and Fiona collapsed.


	16. Chapter 16

### Nano

Nano knocked sharply on the blue painted door, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. She knew she already looked suspicious enough, wearing the black hoodie in this heat. She didn’t want to make it even more obvious that she was trying to avoid being noticed.

There was no response, so she knocked again, and then banged on the door angrily with her fist. “Open up, asshole,” she called.

After a long pause, she heard the sound of someone unlocking the door, and then Sjin pulled it open. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week, and probably hadn’t showered in longer. He stared at her.

“What are you doing here?” he said blankly.

“Move,” she said, pushing the door open and forcing him back a step. He gave way and she entered the apartment, shutting the door behind herself.

From inside the apartment, it was even more obvious that Sjin had been moping around. The piles of takeout cartons on the kitchen counters was reaching dangerous levels, and it smelled stale, like the garbage hadn’t been taking out in while.

“Open a window in here or something, jeez,” Nano said. “Did you two break up? That explains why I saw Sips at the Stunt Lads’ place.”

“We have an open relationship,” Sjin said with a shrug that was probably meant to appear careless. “I don’t care where he is.” He went to the counter and started picking up empty takeout containers and shoving them in the bin.

“Is this because the meth lab blew up?”

“We were getting bored with making meth anyway,” Sjin said. “He said he needed a change of scenery and, you know, I agree.” He gave his fake laugh, the one she had long since learned to mistrust in the years of knowing him. “He said he’d be back in a while.”

“Oh, hon.” Nano pulled out a kitchen chair to sit on it, then thought better when she saw the beer stain on the seat. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Sjin gave her a wounded look, shoving more garbage in the bin. “I needed some time off too,” he insisted. “It’ll be good for us.”

Nano frowned at him, then rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. I didn’t come here to talk to you about Sips. I came to talk to you about our next job.”

She explained the plan to him while he aimlessly tidied the kitchen. When she had finished, all he asked was whether Sips would be there, with an air of affected nonchalance. She said that he would be, and Sjin immediately went into the bathroom to shave.

Strife had wanted them to finish their mission as soon as possible, before there was any chance that someone could find the plans for flux production. The faster they could get it done, the higher their bonus would be. Luckily, the prep they’d done for Brindley’s original heist had given them the stuff they needed for this new job.

Leaving Sjin to his preparations, Nano took a taxi to another one of her storage lockers and restocked her arsenal. She didn’t have Lalna to blame if she forgot the rocket launcher this time, so she made sure it was in the duffel before she headed out again.

* * *

### Lalna

Lalna woke some time around noon to the sound of dishes clattering. He found Honeydew standing on a stool at the stovetop. He was wearing an apron and cooking bacon. Zoey was just finishing her breakfast and Rythian was standing at the window with a cup of coffee.

“Afternoon, sweetie,” Honeydew said with an affected lisp when Lalna came in. “And how would you like your eggs?”

“Ooh.” Lalna looked over his shoulder at the bacon sizzling in the pan. “Scrambled, please.”

“Now you go fix yourself a cup of coffee and let Mama Honeydew feed you right up,” Honeydew said, cracking three eggs into a bowl.

“Honeydew like the melon?” Zoey asked idly from the table.

“Like the muppet,” Honeydew said. He dumped the bacon onto a plate and started whisking the eggs.

Lalna made himself a cup of coffee and took the other seat at the table. Zoey’s phone buzzed with a text. She picked it up and Lalna saw her smile at the screen.

“What are the plans for today?” Lalna asked.

“I have to call the station and update them,” Rythian said. “I don’t think I can tell them where we are, but I can tell them we’re alive.”

“That…might be a good idea,” said Honeydew.

“Why?” Lalna asked warily.

“Well…” Honeydew drew out the word as he stirred the eggs in the pan. “Everyone’s a bit overexcited about the shootout at the safe house.”

Rythian straightened up and then fished his phone out of his pocket and started thumbing the screen. Lalna looked from him to Honeydew and back again.

“What are they saying?” he asked.

“That Rythian kidnapped you,” Honeydew said. He dumped the eggs onto the plate with the bacon and set it in front of Lalna. “There’s a lot of discussion about, ah, Chumash.”

“‘ _Unsafe House_ ,’” Rythian said out loud, his tone very flat. “‘YogLabs Witness Kidnapped by Crooked Cop.’”

“Personally, I was a fan of the Weazel News headline,” Honeydew said. “‘ _Witless Protection_.’ They went after the LSPD for putting you in charge of Lalna in the first place.

“I’ll be right back,” Zoey muttered, getting up from the table.

“‘According to coworkers, Hellstrand never gave up the idea that Jones was behind the 2011 robbery that left him scarred,’” Rythian read, his voice getting colder with every word. “‘“He was always angry,” said a coworker who spoke on condition of anonymity. “He didn’t have any friends outside of work.”’”

“I might recommend not reading the rest,” said Honeydew, dragging his stool over to the sink to fill a dishpan with foamy water.

“Call the station,” Lalna said earnestly. “I can tell them you didn’t kidnap me.”

“Right.” Rythian raised his eyes from the phone and met Lalna’s gaze. “You can tell them you’re fine and that I’m definitely not holding a gun to your head as you say it. I can take a picture of you with today’s newspaper to prove I didn’t hurt you.” Rythian grimaced and shoved his phone back in his pocket. “They won’t believe anything unless I return you to the station, where the actual crooked cops are waiting.”

“Zoey can vouch for you, right?” said Lalna. “Are they saying anything about her?”

“Not yet,” Rythian said. “But she was also injured at Chumash, so…” He stopped, looking around. “Where did she go?”

“The loo?” said Honeydew.

Rythian shrugged and sat down heavily at the table across from Lalna. He rubbed his hand across his face. “I was supposed to get a break at some point,” he mumbled.

“There, there,” said Honeydew, stepping down off his stool. “It’ll be fine. As soon as you deliver Lalna to the court for his testimony, all will be well.” He patted Rythian on the shoulder and winked at Lalna. “Now do your dishes when you’re done with them. I have to do some digging on that ankle monitor service.”

Lalna turned back to his plate to finish his breakfast. “Thanks for the food, Honeydew.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” Honeydew went past him and disappeared into the hallway. Rythian rested his chin in his hand and stared blankly across the room at the kitchen window.

“It’ll be fine,” Lalna said, toying with the curds of egg on his place. “We’re away from Brindley’s men now. We just have to hang out for a few months now, and after that, you can prove that you’re not corrupt.”

Rythian’s ice blue gaze shifted to him. “So I should just let them think I’m a criminal for six months?”

Lalna shrugged. “Who cares what they think?” He shoved a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

Rythian sighed, but the set to his mouth softened. “Is that why you wear the clothes you do? Because you don’t care what anyone thinks?”

Lalna, mouth too full to respond, glared at him. Rythian’s lip curled up further, almost into a smile.

“You’re right, though,” Rythian added. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks right now. As long as you make it to the trial, I can prove my innocence.”

Lalna swallowed hard. “So I better make it to trial,” he said.

“You’d better,” Rythian agreed. Lalna studied his face to make sure he meant it.

“No take-backsies,” he said.

“I promise.”

“Pinky swear.” Lalna held out his hand. After a measuring pause, Rythian smiled and hooked Lalna’s pinky with his own.

“I swear,” he said. Lalna grinned back.

“Guys?” Honeydew came into the kitchen, a pinched look to his face. “Zoey’s gone.”

* * *

### Zoey

Zoey sat in the driver’s seat of the car that Rythian had parked at the supermarket. She had turned the key enough to get the air conditioner going, but hadn’t started the car yet. Her hands were shaking. She kept scrolling back through the texts she’d gotten from Fiona.

_Fiona: Hey babe_

_Zoey: whats cookin good lookin_

_Fiona: Where are you?_

_Zoey: work_

_Fiona: I know but where_

_Zoey: u no i can’t tell you that_

The next thing Zoey had received from Fiona had been a photo. In the photo, Fiona was sitting on a linoleum floor, her hands tied together so tightly that the rope had cut into her wrists. She had a bruise on one cheek and looked like she’d been crying.

_Fiona: Tell me where you are_

_Fiona: If you involve the police, we’ll kill her_

_Fiona: And believe me, we’ll know if you do_

That was when Zoey had fled the house, barely having the presence of mind to grab the car keys before she went. She knew vaguely where Rythian had parked the car. The run there had been interminable, and when she’d reached it, she’d thrown up on the pavement. Now, the cold air from the air conditioner chilled her sweaty face.

_Zoey: don’t hurt her_

_Fiona: You have two minutes to tell us where you are before we start taking fingers_

Zoey stared down at her bare thighs, numbly realizing that she was still only wearing one of Honeydew’s kitten t-shirts and her underwear, and nothing else. She leaned over and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said out loud. “I don’t know what to do.”

She would choose Fiona over Lalna in a heartbeat, but on the other hand, she didn’t want anyone to die. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Brindley’s men would know if she contacted the police. It was clear enough that they had people on the inside.

_Zoey: how do i know u’ll let her go when i tell u?_

_Fiona: you’re not in a position to negotiate here_

_Zoey: i kind of am. u want lalna. i want fi. we’re negotiating_

_Fiona: Ok then, let’s negotiate_

_Fiona: How many fingers should we take_

_Fiona: I’m thinking 3 to start_

_Fiona: Make me a counteroffer_

Zoey wiped angrily at her eyes. The tears were making it hard to see the screen.

_Zoey: i could bring lalna to u and we could trade_

_Fiona: Do I hear 4?_

_Zoey: 0_

_Fiona: Split the difference?_

_Zoey: he’ll be at the 24/7 in east los santos in an hour_

_Zoey: look for a blue schafter_

_Fiona: If he’s not there, I’m taking all 10 fingers_

Zoey tossed her phone into the passenger’s seat and opened the driver’s side door. She leaned over and spat bile onto the ground.

* * *

### Rythian

Rythian found Zoey in the 24/7 parking lot, sitting in the car. She was pale and her eyes were puffy and red from crying. When he tapped on the window, she flinched.

He opened the passenger’s side door and slid into the car. Zoey stared straight ahead, out the windshield.

“What happened?” Rythian asked.

“I’m giving them Lalna,” Zoey said.

Rythian’s stomach lurched in an immediate jolt of panic—first at the thought that Zoey had betrayed them, and then at the idea of coldly turning Lalna over to Brindley’s men after everything that had happened. He took a breath to respond, held it a second, then said, “What did they do to Fiona?”

She wordlessly passed him her phone. He opened it and read the conversation. Everything went very cold inside him when he saw the photo.

“Okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You told them to come here half an hour ago. We have a little time.”

She turned to him finally, staring at him with her bloodshot eyes. “If Lalna’s not here when they get here—”

“I saw,” Rythian interrupted, to keep her from saying it out loud.

“I believe them.”

“I do too.” Rythian would do anything to take that dead look off Zoey’s face, but he had to say it. “We can’t give them Lalna.”

“Watch me.”

“They’ll kill him.”

“They’ll kill Fiona.”

“I don’t want either of those things to happen,” Rythian said. “We can figure a way out of this.”

Zoey rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand and turned her face forward again. “I was thinking about it,” she said. “I don’t think they’ll kill him immediately.”

“I don’t want him to be tortured, either,” Rythian said. That hadn’t always been a true statement, he knew. He wasn’t sure at what point that had changed.

“But it might give us time.” Zoey blinked slowly. “I can’t—I can’t let them do that to Fiona. I can’t let them torture her.”

Rythian swallowed. He had never heard her sound so empty before. “Do you think we can get him away from them after we save Fiona?”

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Honeydew could try to find where they’re keeping her,” Rythian said. “We could—”

“Not in half an hour,” Zoey said. “All we could manage to do in half an hour is make them angry.”

“Okay.” Rythian looked around the parking lot. “So what happens if they get here and immediately shoot Lalna in the head?”

“As long as Fiona is okay—” Zoey pressed her hands to her face and shook with a sudden ragged breath. “Are you really going to make me choose between them?”

Rythian lowered his gaze to the dashboard and didn’t answer. There was no way to choose between Lalna and Fiona. Fiona was the love of Zoey’s life, and more than anything, Rythian wanted Zoey to be happy. If pressed, Rythian would grudgingly admit that he had hated her at first, jealous that she had taken Zoey away from him. Of course, Zoey had never been his to begin with, and it had been Zoey’s choice. And even in his darkest days, he had never wanted her to die or be tortured.

But on the other hand, Lalna was his duty. Meeting the man, as scatter-brained and cheery as he was, had changed something in Rythian. The thought of Brindley’s men getting their hands on Lalna made him feel physically ill.

And all he could think about was that stupid pinky promise in the kitchen not an hour ago. Lalna’s giddy grin.

Zoey started the car, jolting him from his thoughts. When he looked at her, she was staring straight forward stonily as she shifted into drive.

“We only have twenty minutes,” she said, pulling out of the parking spot. “We have to bring him here.”

“Zoey, we can’t hand him over,” Rythian said, buckling his seatbelt as Zoey took the turn out of the lot too quickly. “We have to think of something else.”

“Then think,” she said, accelerating. “And _don’t tell Lalna_.”

“Zoey—”

“ _Please_.” She looked at him, her eyes so full of pain that he couldn’t stand it. He nodded.

They arrived back at Honeydew’s house a minute later and Zoey pulled straight into the driveway, not bothering to be discreet. Honeydew met them at the door, concerned.

“What’s—” he started.

Zoey pushed past him without stopping. “Lalna, we have to move to the next safe house,” she called down the hallway as she strode through to the living room, still only wearing a t-shirt and underwear. “There’s no time to pack.”

“What’s going on?” Honeydew asked Rythian. “Have they figured out where you are?”

“They—” Rythian hesitated. “You have to look up places where Brindley’s men might keep a prisoner. Properties he owns, that sort of thing.”

“Why? Who does he have?” Honeydew asked, and then frowned, looking after Zoey.

“Just find it, okay? And please, be quick.”

Zoey and Lalna came down the hallway. Zoey had a pair of jeans on now. Lalna hadn’t even bothered tying his shoes and looked like he had only just changed out of his pjs. His brow was pinched together in distress.

“Are they here?” he asked Rythian as soon as he came into sight. Zoey, grim-faced, headed past Rythian and back out to the car, ignoring all of them.

“Not yet,” Rythian said, hating himself for keeping up the charade. He could still come up with a plan once they were in the car, but if Lalna found out what was going on, he was never going to go along with them, and Fiona could die. “Text me if you find anything,” he added to Honeydew, and followed Lalna out of the house.

Zoey had already started the car. Lalna, still looking confused and a little frightened, got into the back seat. Rythian slid into the back seat with him. Zoey started backing down the driveway before he even got the door shut.

“Say something,” Lalna begged as they bumped down the driveway onto the street. “What is going on?”

“What do you know about Brindley?” Rythian asked him. “Do you know where he might keep a prisoner?”

“Uh, not really.” Lalna grabbed the back of the seat ahead of him for support at another crazy turn. “We met in a warehouse once but I think it was too public to keep prisoners. And there was the scrap yard, but… I mean I’ve never been in YogLabs. He could have a whole prison in there and I wouldn’t know about it. Why?”

Fuck, they were running out of time. It was less than ten minutes before the meeting, and Rythian had no idea what to do.

“You’re making me nervous,” Lalna said, staring at him. “Are we going to another safe house or not?”

“We’re not,” Rythian said.

“ _Rythian_ ,” Zoey said sharply. Lalna looked at her, looking startled by her tone. When he looked back at Rythian, his eyes were wide.

“Then where are we going?”

The car turned sharply into the parking lot of the 24/7. Zoey jerked the car into the first available parking spot and slammed on the brakes.

“They can’t say we’re late,” she said.

Lalna peered out the window. Rythian saw one of his hands going for the door handle, so he grabbed Lalna’s broken one, bringing his attention swinging back.

“Don’t make them angry,” Rythian said, gripping Lalna’s hand carefully. “Try to talk them down. Remind them that they know you. Give us as much time as you can. We will come and get you, I promise.”

Lalna tried to twist his hand out of Rythian’s grip, his eyes getting wider, but Rythian hung on. “You said you wouldn’t let them get me. You promised.”

“I promised I’d get you to the trial in one piece. And I will. You have to trust us.”

“Is this so you can get evidence for Chumash?” Lalna started peeling Rythian’s fingers off his wrist. “I did it, okay? I robbed the bank. I’ll confess to everything if you don’t hand me over.”

Rythian’s stomach lurched. He grabbed Lalna’s other wrist. “You’re just saying that,” he said hoarsely.

“I can prove it. Ask me anything.”

Rythian drew in a breath through his nose, then let it out. “They have Zoey’s girlfriend Fiona. That’s why we’re here,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I know where the money went. I can tell you who hired us, and what weapons we used. I can show you that car you were looking for.”

“I’m sorry,” Rythian said again.

“They’re here,” Zoey said. A car pulled into the space next to them. Rythian saw Turps in the driver’s seat. The back windows were tinted.

Lalna’s struggle gained a greater edge of panic. “They’re going to kill me,” he said. “Please, Rythian. Don’t do this.”

“As soon as Fiona’s safe, we’re coming for you,” Rythian whispered. “Trust me.”

Turps got out of the car and then knocked on the window next to Lalna. Zoey disengaged the locks. He pulled the door open. Lalna nearly crawled into Rythian’s lap to escape him.

“Mr. Jones!” Turps said cheerfully. “I was hoping we’d get to see you again.”

Zoey opened her own door and bounced to her feet, circling the car to Turps’s. “Where is Fiona?”

The back door opened and Strippin got out. He was holding a gun, but keeping it down at his side where it wouldn’t be obvious to the other people in the lot.

“She’s safe,” Turps said. “As soon as we have Mr. Jones here, she’ll be released.”

“I want to see her,” Zoey said.

“Understandable.” Turps pulled out Fiona’s phone and typed into it. Rythian heard the sound of Skype ringing and then being answered.

“Put her on,” Turps said into the phone.

Fiona’s voice, shaky but alive, came out of the speaker. “Zoey?”

Zoey grabbed the phone from Turps. “Fifi, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“Out of the car,” Strippin said, gesturing to Lalna with the gun. “A little faster than that, thanks.”

“Where are you keeping Fiona?” Rythian asked, for the moment not urging Lalna out of the car. “How do we know you’re going to let her go?”

“What the fuck are we going to do with her?” Strippin asked. “She’s a great cook but we don’t need to keep her around.”

“She gave me a recipe for chicken cacciatore,” Turps said, and kissed his fingertips. “C’est magnifique.”

“Out,” Strippin said, grabbing the back of Lalna’s shirt. He pushed the barrel of the gun into Lalna’s neck. Rythian let go of Lalna’s hands. Lalna slid out of the car, his hands up. Strippin immediately pushed him into the back seat of Turps’s car and then got in with him, pulling the door shut.

Turps took the phone back from Zoey and cancelled the Skype call. “In half an hour, assuming no one follows us or tries anything funny, we’re going to let Fiona go,” he said. “Before that point, anything you do is going to be taken out on her, get it? She’s not out of the woods yet.”

Rythian stared into the tinted back windows of the car, trying to see Lalna. He felt completely useless right now. It went against everything he stood for to let them drive away with Lalna, but what could he do?

“If you hurt her—” Zoey started.

“Whether we hurt her or not is entirely up to you.” Turps gave them both a stern look, then brightened. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He leaned into the car and grabbed a folder, then held it out to Rythian. “I hope you find this useful.”

Rythian flipped open the folder. The front page was the uncensored traffic photo of the car, its license plate plainly visible. The next page showed a still from security footage. Sjin and Lalna, balaclavas off but otherwise still dressed as they had been in the bank, were just getting out of the same car, which was parked in a nondescript lot.

Turps started his car and pulled out of the space. Rythian lifted his gaze to watch the car drive away. Nothing was visible through the windows, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lalna was watching him the whole way out.


	17. Chapter 17

### Trott

“Three, two, one, mark.” Trott re-settled his headset over his ears as Smiffy and Ross spoke the last word with him in unison. The round, reflective eyes of their gas masks looked alien in the light from the camera and the setting sun.

“Welcome back to the Stunt Lads Show!” Trott said, holding up the GoPro at an angle to encompass the three of them. “Tonight we’re doing something a little different. We’ve got a new sponsor tonight, and that sponsor is YogLabs”

“That’s right, Crazy Pills has nothing to do with tonight’s stunts,” Smiffy said. “Legally they are not responsible for anything that may or may not happen.”

“Which leads us to our second big announcement,” Ross chimed in. “Once this episode airs, it will be official: Stunt Lads is going international.”

“Join us next season for Stunt Lads: Andorra.” Trott gave the camera a thumbs up with his free hand. “Insert new logo here.”

“Did we settle on Andorra?” Ross said. “I was voting for the Maldives.”

“Stunt Lads: Bosnia and Herzegovina,” Smiffy said.

Trott sighed. “Join us next season for Stunt Lads: some country without an extradition treaty that isn’t Mexico because apparently that thing about Mexico being a safe haven is a popular misconception.”

“That title’s a bit long, mate.” Smiffy clapped him on the back.

“We’re five minutes out,” Ross said, holding onto the frame of the helicopter as he leaned out. They were nearing the Vinewood sign. In the valley beyond that was Los Santos itself, glittering with lights, and in the middle of that was YogLabs.

Trott panned the camera around. They all had GoPros strapped to their harnesses, and had spent some of the afternoon getting drone footage of the downtown area for the b-roll. Assuming none of them died or was arrested, this was going to be the best episode of Stunt Lads yet. And if one or more of them did die, well, as long as they got it on film, the ratings would be through the roof.

“So what stunt do we have planned for today, Ross?” Trott said.

“Well.” Ross fussed with the straps of his parachute. “Today, Trott, we’re going to be skydiving onto the helipad of YogLabs for a cheeky bit of breaking and entering.”

“Emphasis on the breaking,” Smiffy added.

“Mr. Brindley, CEO of YogLabs, has been a bad boy,” Ross continued. “We’re going to give him a spanking.”

“That’s, uh, weird, Ross,” Trott said.

“We’re going to paddle his little bottom,” said Smiffy, leaning in to the camera. “Because he’s been so naughty.”

“Okay.” Trott snapped the Go Pro into place on his harness. “That’s just great, guys.”

The helicopter was approaching YogLabs now. They were coming in at an altitude of around 5,000 feet, which would give them plenty of room to free fall, and would also keep people from noticing their approach. They were wearing wing suits instead of their usual hazmat suits, although they’d stuck with the typical blue, white and yellow for the sake of continuity.

“This is it,” said Trott. He held out his fist to the others for a good luck fist bump. “Don’t die, okay?”

“Live fast and leave great footage,” Smiffy said. He climbed into the open doorway of the helicopter. “See you losers later.” He jumped.

Ross climbed up after him and hung in the doorway for a second, framed by the skyline. “Remember, if I die, delete my browsing history and tell my mother I loved her.” He let go.

“Yeah, yeah,” Trott said. He gave a thumbs up to the pilot, then stepped into the open doorway as well. “Geronimo.”

* * *

### Rythian

“I can’t fucking believe what you two just—” Honeydew clapped a hand to his mouth and shook his head. “I can’t _fucking believe_ —”

“This isn’t helping,” Rythian said shortly, pacing the perimeter of Honeydew’s office. “I need to know where they’ve taken him. You can find that, right?”

“Who am I, Mark fucking Zuckerburg? I don’t know everything about everyone,” Honeydew snapped. He was sitting on his office chair, having been interrupted at his computer when Rythian and Zoey stormed back in. On the screen behind him, Rythian could see a security feed of the 24/7 parking lot they’d been at, which belied his words.

“You can find out,” Zoey said shortly, her shoulders hunched. She had her phone in her hand and was checking it obsessively, waiting for a call from Fiona.

“I appreciate the confidence,” Honeydew said snidely. “Maybe you should have given me some advance warning before you threw Lalna to the wolves.”

“We didn’t have time,” Rythian said. “Anyway, it’s done. Lalna said he thought Xephos might be able to hide people in YogLabs itself. Is that likely?”

Honeydew stared at him for a long moment, breathing deeply through his nose. Finally he gritted his teeth and swiped irritably at the scar at the back of his head. “Of course he can hide people in YogLabs,” he said gruffly. He turned his chair back to the computer screen.

“Okay. Where? And how do we get in?”

Honeydew started typing furiously, and after a moment, blueprints of YogLabs came up on the screen. “I was Xephos’s systems analyst,” he said after a moment. “They may have tried to revoke my access, but they weren’t the ones who built the system from the ground up. I can get you in.” He looked over his shoulder at them. “If you’d come to me when you first knew Fiona was missing—”

Zoey’s phone rang and she immediately answered it, ducking out of the room. Rythian heard her say “Fiona!” with exhausted relief, and he felt his shoulders relax just a little. Honeydew’s eyes followed her out of the room, and then he turned back to his screen.

“Here,” he said, reaching up with a stubby finger to tap the screen. “The thirteenth floor. No one thinks twice when the elevator doesn’t have a button for it because most skyscrapers don’t have a thirteenth floor, but it’s there. That’s where he keeps them.”

“Who is ‘them’?” Rythian asked. “Who does he normally keep there?”

Honeydew looked back at him again. “You’re going to have to subpoena me if you want to know _that_.”

“Okay, then, how soon can you get us in there?”

Zoey leaned into the room. “I’m going to get Fiona,” she said. “They dropped her off at the Maze Bank Arena.”

“Pick her up on the way,” Honeydew said. “I can get you into YogLabs as soon as you get there.”

* * *

### Sjin

“Where did you get these uniforms? They smell like old hobo,” Sips said, sniffing at the armpit of his coveralls as he walked across the parking garage.

“Shut up,” Nano said, walking next to him and keeping her voice low. Her own uniform was rolled up at the ankles, since it was hard to find trousers for someone who was only five feet tall. “We only had a day, all right? I did the best I could.”

Sjin walked behind them, his duffel bag on his shoulder, trying to pretend like he really didn’t care that they had picked up Sips at the Stunt Lads’ flat and that he had barely given Sjin so much as a wave in the few hours since then. It didn’t matter. They were taking a break. They had an open relationship. Sips had a short attention span. There were a lot of excuses.

None of them made him feel any better.

Sips and Nano looked like a comical pair ahead of him, with more than a foot of height difference between them. The logo on the back of the coveralls read SecuroServ.

“Did you mug a hobo?” Sjin called to them. “Is that how you got them so fast?”

“I found out where SecuroServ has their uniforms laundered.”

“And you couldn’t have picked from the clean pile?”

“I’m surprised you can even tell the difference. You always smell like old hobo,” Nano muttered. They reached the bank of elevators. Sips hit the button for the tenth floor, where Strife had told them the server farm was probably located. The elevator doors stayed open, waiting for someone to scan their ID.

“I hope you have something for that,” Sjin said.

“I do know how to do my job,” Nano said. She pulled an ID card from her pocket and tapped it to the reader. The light turned green and the doors closed.

The elevator began to rise. Sjin leaned against the elevator wall, opposite Sips. Nano glanced at Sjin, over at Sips, and back to Sjin. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“I hope the Stunt Lads don’t get shot out of the sky,” Sjin said casually. “That would be a shame, eh?”

“They’ve survived worse,” Sips said. “Like when they leapt over the dam and smashed their cars in mid air?”

“That was my favorite episode of One Tree Hill,” Sjin said.

Sips laughed, and Sjin felt a warm glow. Nano snorted, pretending she wasn’t paying attention.

They reached the tenth floor and the doors opened onto a hallway. Sjin had never been in YogLabs, and hadn’t been sure what to expect. The exterior was modern, all glass, looking very bank-like. Inside, though, the decor was more medical, with pristine white tiles and smoked glass, and colored stripes running along the walls to guide people to the right areas. People in white lab coats were bustling up and down the hallway, getting ready to head home for the evening.

“Fly casual,” Nano muttered before stepping out of the elevator.

Sjin followed after her with a bounce in his step. He smiled at one of the scientists entering the elevator, who looked past him without acknowledgement.

“Afternoon!” Sjin said. The scientist muttered something and kept walking. Well, at least their disguise was working.

There was a maintenance closet down the hall. Nano unlocked it and passed a mop and bucket to Sjin and some glass cleaner to Sips. She took a second mop and bucket for herself. Then, cleaning supplies in hand, they set off to find the server room.

* * *

### Lalna

The room smelled like chemicals and metal, like an old high school science lab, or like Sips’s meth lab before the cat piss smell had gotten too bad. It would have been comforting if it weren’t for the circumstances. Lalna sat in a metal folding chair in the middle of the room and tried very hard not to panic.

Turps and Strippin had hustled Lalna through the service entrance of YogLabs and into an elevator. Lalna didn’t know what floor they’d gotten out on, but it had to be pretty high up, since the trip had taken some time. They hadn’t run into any other YogLabs employees, but that was to be expected. There had to be secret entrances in the building. Xephos did a lot of business under the table, and it wouldn’t do to have one’s employees seeing one’s unsavory guests.

“The trick is that you roast the garlic bulb ahead of time,” Turps was saying to Strippin through a respirator as he emptied a jug of aqueous lye into a large blue plastic barrel. “It caramelizes it and just changes the flavor completely.”

“Mate, I don’t have time for that,” Strippin said, leaning against a stainless steel counter with his arms crossed. The top he was wearing looked like it had been picked out to cling to every perfect muscle. He wore a respirator as well, although he’d foregone the safety goggles.

“Well this isn’t an every day meal,” Turps said. “It’s for a special occasion.”

“The garlic is getting cooked anyway. Who cares if it’s cooked ahead of time? That’s like twice the work.”

Lalna focused on his hands, which were cuffed behind his back. He flexed his wrists gently, testing the fit. They were tight. His jaw was bruised from a casual hit from Turps, but to be honest they hadn’t roughed him up too much. He would be grateful except he couldn’t stop looking at the barrel of lye. Turps tossed the empty jug aside and opened another one.

“I get it, you’re a Philistine,” Turps said. “You don’t appreciate food.”

“I once ate nine burgers in one sitting,” Strippin said. “I appreciate the fuck out of food.”

“That’s not going to dispose of my body,” Lalna interrupted, staring at the jug. “Lye doesn’t eat through bones very well.”

“Do you think we’re new?” Turps shot him a look through the plastic safety goggles, emptying the last of the second jug into the barrel. “It weakens them enough. We’ll smash the bones to powder and flush them.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Lalna said. He paused, then added, “Like cooking garlic twice.”

“See? He agrees,” said Strippin. “Why do more work than you have to?”

“Because it’s traditional,” Turps said. “You’re supposed to get rid of bodies with lye.”

“Hydrochloric acid works faster,” Lalna said. “And it eats right through bone. It’s just one step.”

“Says the guy getting dissolved,” Turps said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Why would I listen to you?”

Lalna chewed on his lower lip, gauging his expression. “It’ll kill me faster,” he said.

“Why would we want to kill you fast?”

Lalna swallowed. “What have I ever done to you?”

“This isn’t personal,” Turps said. “Xephos said to make it hurt, so that’s what we’re doing. It’s our job.”

“It’s still acid,” Lalna said. “It’s still going to hurt, just not for as long. Please. He won’t know if you do it. Just tell him you used acid. It’ll be the truth.”

“Is this like that shit they used on Breaking Bad?” Strippin asked. “You trying to get us to burn a hole in the barrel?”

“That was hydrofluoric acid,” Lalna corrected automatically. “And that wouldn’t melt plastic either. That’s why they keep it in a plastic jug.” He nodded his head toward a jug on a shelf next to Strippin.

“We’re not going to listen to him,” Turps said.

“Yeah, but if it gets this over with faster…” Strippin made a face. “I never liked smashing up the bones. I always feel like there’s bone powder in my lungs afterward. If the acid gets the job done, who cares?”

“I’ve already poured the fucking lye into the barrel,” Turps snapped. “We’ll keep it in mind for next time, okay?”

“No, that’s good. Just add it in too,” Lalna said. “Please, I’m begging you.”

Strippin straightened up and pulled the jug down from the shelf. He studied the label. “What’s the harm?”

“It probably doesn’t even melt flesh,” Turps said. “Pour it on him and see.”

“No!” Lalna straightened in his chair, painfully pulled short by the handcuffs.

Strippin smirked at him and uncapped the jug, then grimaced and moved it away from his face. “This stuff is rank.”

“We just have to make sure you’re not lying,” Turps said, smirking at Lalna. Strippin brought the jug to Lalna, who leaned away.

“You wanted to die faster, right?” Strippin grinned at him.

“Please d—” Lalna broke off into a scream as Strippin splashed some acid onto his arm. His flesh immediately turned an angry red and then started to sizzle like steak on the grill. The pain was incredible, worse than breaking his fingers, worse than jumping out of a car, worse than having someone smash his head into concrete. It was a whole new level of pain, blinding white in his head. His eyes started burning with pain and his nose ran with snot, but none of that helped.

He fought to stay present, focusing his eyes on the wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths. He didn’t want to look at his arm. He could hear the sizzling still, and even though it had been a small amount, he knew the scarring was going to be terrible.

“Oh shut up,” Strippin said, annoyed, when Lalna stopped screaming long enough to take in a ragged breath. “I don’t think he’s faking,” he added to Turps.

“Fine.” Turps spread his gloved hands. “Go right the fuck ahead.”

Strippin hefted the jug over to the barrel and started to tip it in, then stopped. “This isn’t going to explode, right?” he said warily.

Turps frowned down at it, then shot a suspicious look at Lalna, who was watching them through streaming eyes, heaving with choking breaths. “I don’t know. Just put in a little drop.”

Strippin poured a small amount in to the cap and tipped it in. It splashed into the barrel of lye and then dispersed gently, without even a bubble. They both waited with bated breath, then relaxed. Strippin dumped the rest of the jug in. The liquid remained clear and calm.

“Great,” Strippin said. “Now let’s dump him in and go get dinner.”

“Show some respect,” Turps said. “This is a human life we’re taking. Jones, do you have any last words? Want us to tell your girlfriend anything?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Turps shrugged. “I don’t think I’d have chosen those as my last words, but what the hell.”

Strippin tossed the empty jug aside and crossed over to Lalna. Lalna pushed his chair backwards away from Strippin, a useless gesture, since Strippin just made it that extra step and uncuffed him from the chair, then heaved him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Lalna kicked until Strippin drove a fist into his gut.

“I have more last words,” Lalna gasped. “I have a message for—for my mother. Please—”

Turps’s phone started buzzing, cutting him off. Turps pulled it out of his pocket and frowned at it.

“We have visitors,” he said. “We’re going to have to cut this short.”

Strippin stopped next to the barrel. “This is going to splash, isn’t it?”

“Lower him in,” Turps said.

“He’s struggling. Usually they’re dead when we do this part.”

“Just fucking do it, would you?” Turps pulled off his mask and goggles and lifted the lid of the barrel. “We’ve got to go.”

Strippin sighed heavily and then eased Lalna off his shoulder. Lalna bucked, head butting Strippin in the arm, which really didn’t do anything. Strippin awkwardly lowered him down, then dumped him head first into the barrel. Lalna splashed down into the acid-lye mix.

His head hit the bottom of the barrel hard, but despite the hard shock he managed to keep his eyes and mouth shut tightly. He clenched every muscle, waiting for the pain, just in case his plan hadn’t worked. Kicking his legs violently, he squirmed and tried to twist around in the tight confines of the barrel. Someone grabbed his feet and shoved them down, forcing his knees up to his chin. When he kicked again, his feet met plastic barrel lid.

The hydrochloric acid and the lye had neutralized each other. The liquid in the tub was harmless, though it could still drown him. He squirmed and kicked again. The barrel lid didn’t move. Maybe they’d put something heavy on it.

He was going to die in this barrel if he didn’t act fast. His head pressed against the bottom of the barrel at a cramped angle. He kicked and kicked, then heaved his weight against the side of the barrel.

After a good ten seconds of struggling, he felt his center of balance tip, and then the barrel crashed down onto its side. His face broke into the air pocket that was now within reach. As soon as his mouth was clear, Lalna gulped in smelly, chemical air. He choked immediately but sucked in more air, then held his breath and kicked again.

His feet bounced off the lid, unable to move it. Shit. It must have been locked down. His action splashed the liquid over his face again. He pressed his lips against the plastic side of the barrel, sucking in another breath of air as soon as the air pocket settled. There wasn’t enough air to keep doing this for long. Lalna gathered his strength to kick again.

* * *

### Trott

The rooftop access door wasn’t too hard to pry open, since building security didn’t seem to expect too many people to try to break in from up there. Trott propped the door open to make their retreat easier, and then they all headed down the stairs to the floor that held Brindley’s office.

It was only half five on a Wednesday, but Brindley had been in jail for a week now and his office was not in use. The automatic lights came on when they entered the hallway. Smiffy forced the door open with a few well placed kicks, and then the three of them were in.

“I bet you’re wondering what Mr. Brindley did to deserve this,” Trott said in a stage whisper to his handheld camera as Ross crossed the room to Brindley’s desk and started pawing aggressively through the files on top. “All we can say is that he treats his employees very poorly.”

“We can say more than that,” said Ross, picking a tablet off Brindley’s desk and tossing it carelessly onto the floor. “The man is a cunt.”

“And he never paid us,” Smiffy added.

“Ross, you can’t say that word,” Trott said with a groan.

“Trott, we’re committing a felony.” Ross picked up Brindley’s laptop. “I don’t think anyone’s going to object to me saying the c-word.” He dropped the computer onto the floor, where the plastic shattered.

Smiffy peeled the safety cap off a bottle of lighter fluid and squirted some onto the desk and rug, then directed a steady stream onto the shattered laptop. “Open those desk drawers, Ross,” he said. “Let’s get some of those files wet.”

Trott panned the camera around the room. “He probably doesn’t have anything illegal in his office,” he said, walking over to a filing cabinet and pulling open the top drawer. “Not where the police could find it.”

Smiffy opened a second bottle of lighter fluid and joined Trott at the filing cabinet. He opened the next drawer down and the filing cabinet started to tip forward. Trott stepped out of the way, letting it crash to the floor.

“Someone had to hear that,” Ross said, abandoning the desk and going to the office door to look out.

“We’re almost done anyway.” Trott zoomed in on Smiffy as he pulled his lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on. The little yellow flame danced.

“Here’s to you, Brindley,” Smiffy said, holding up the flame. “I hope you—”

Ross let out a strangled shout as the glass in the office door shattered. He leaped backwards as more gunfire rattled, shredding the ceiling tiles.

“They’re here!” Trott shouted unnecessarily. Smiffy dropped the lighter and the pile of papers on the floor flared up immediately. Trott danced out of the way of the flames and fumbled with the camera as he grabbed for his gun.

Ross jumped behind Brindley’s desk and Trott could hear him swearing. Trott yanked his 10mm free and squeezed off a couple shots at the still-empty office doorway to keep security at bay. Heat licked around his ankles. The fire was spreading fast, racing along the line of lighter fluid.

“Get to the roof!” Smiffy shouted, and that was when the first riot shield with the YogLabs logo on the front appeared in the doorway, blocking their only way out.

Trott fired twice into the riot shield before he abandoned the idea. He dove behind the overturned filing cabinet, soaking the knees of his hazmat suit in lighter fluid. It was hard to see through the mask at the best of times, and right now, as smoke started to billow up from the rug, it was just about impossible. At least the respirator helped him breathe.

“Get down on the floor!” someone shouted. Trott thought he recognized Strippin’s voice, but he couldn’t be sure. He flattened himself to the ground as more gunfire went over his head. It shattered the plate glass window, and the fire immediately roared up to twice its size at the influx of air. The fire alarm went off.

There was no way they could make it back to the rooftop. Trott batted at his knees as his suit caught fire. He pistol-whipped himself in his own kneecap and cursed vigorously.

“Fall back, lads!” Smiffy shouted somewhere across the room, almost inaudible under the roar of flames. Trott looked up in time to see something go past him in a blaze of fire. It didn’t go past him toward the office door, but instead toward the shattered window.

Trott fired wildly at the office doorway and launched himself up to his feet. He heard shouting and more gunfire, but he ignored it as he sprinted toward the open space where the window had been. He stepped in shattered glass and skidded, and then his ankle caught the window frame and he tumbled straight out into thin air.

On the third wild spin, Trott managed to get his arms out and get control of his fall. Wind caught the webbing of his wing suit and snapped him into a glide, hurtling between two skyscrapers faster than he could even process their existence. He was somehow still hanging on to the camera like a fucking professional. Ahead of him, Smiffy, still on fire, zoomed through the air like a blazing arrow, heading for the rendezvous point.

* * *

### Nano

The server room was refrigerated, and the fabric of the SecuroServ uniform was a lot thinner than Nano had expected. She was so cold that the thought of a nice big explosion sounded pleasant right about now.

Sjin and Sips were setting up the ANFO bombs at three key points in the server room for maximum coverage. Nano kept watch on the door of the server room, ready with a silenced pistol in case someone should wander in. She had to kept shifting position so her fingers wouldn’t get too numb to pull the trigger.

“I was thinking about what we could do with the money,” Sjin was saying as he and Sips worked. “The meth trailer was a dumb idea anyway. Everyone has a meth trailer.”

Sips grunted, clearly not paying attention. Nano shifted her attention to them briefly. It was a little painful, watching Sjin trying so desperately to regain Sips’s interest. She wasn’t sure what had happened between them. It wasn’t like Sips was having an affair or anything, as far as she knew; more that he’d just gotten aggressively disinterested in the same-old same-old that he and Sjin had had going on for so long.

Despite the lack of response, Sjin soldiered gamely on. “So I thought, what’s better than a trailer?” He waited a moment. “A boat, of course. How about we start a meth yacht?”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Nano said, despite herself. “You’ll blow yourself up as soon as the water gets choppy.”

“Okay, maybe, but…” Sjin shrugged helplessly at her. “But it’ll have a hot tub.”

“You ever been to Andorra?” Sips asked Nano, stepping back from the ANFO setup and dusting off his hands.

“Andorra? No. Why?” Nano caught a glimpse of Sjin’s quickly smothered expression of disappointment. She turned back to the door.

“What would I pack for that? Is it hot there?”

“It’s in the Pyrenees mountains,” Nano said. “It’s ski country.”

“Huh,” Sips said in mild interest.

“It doesn’t have to be a yacht,” Sjin said. “I mean, if you don’t want.”

The fire alarm suddenly went off, cutting through their conversation with an ear-splitting wail. Nano flinched. Sjin half-ducked before straightening and pretending he hadn’t.

“Time to go,” Sips said. “Is fifteen minutes enough to get out of here?”

“Should be,” Nano said. Sips squatted down and set the timer on the bomb. Sjin hoisted his empty duffel back up on his shoulder and joined Nano at the doorway.

The three of them stepped into the hallway. At this hour, there was just about no one left in the building except the night staff. No one was there to stop them as they headed for the stairwell. Nano started down the stairs first, ever mindful of the explosives they had just left behind. They weren’t enough to take out the whole building, or even most of it, but she really didn’t want to be anywhere near them when they went off.

Sjin cleared his throat. “So what’s in Andorra?” he asked, trailing at the back of the three of them. Sips took the stairs two at a time with his long legs, quickly gaining on Nano.

“Skiing, I guess,” said Sips.

“Have you ever been skiing?”

“Isn’t that all you can do in Canada?” Nano said, letting Sips pass her.

“No, we just go ice fishing and eat Timbits,” Sips said.

“Then why would you—” Sjin started. Then the bullet caught him in the back, and he pitched forward down the stairs.

He collided with Nano, and the two of them went crashing down to the next landing. Nano hit her head on one cement stair, grabbed for a railing and nearly wrenched her shoulder out of its socket as she tried to slow her descent. She ended up on her ass on the landing, Sjin sprawled at her feet.

Sips was still halfway up the flight of stairs, staring at them in shock. He swung around to look up where the gunshot had come from, then yanked out his pistol and started back up the stairs.

Nano tested her arms and legs gingerly, then probed at her skull. Nothing broken. Sjin was in worse shape, though. She could see his chest rising and falling, but his face was slack, unconscious. Blood was soaking through his uniform from the gunshot wound.

Swearing under her breath, Nano crawled over to him and pressed both hands against the wound on his chest. It was useless. She couldn’t stop the bleeding, not if the wound went all the way through.

“Sips!” she hollered. “We need you.”

“Busy,” Sips shouted back, a flight above her. Two shots rang out, then footsteps, then more shots.

“Now.” Nano got to her feet and grabbed her gun where it had fallen. She started up the stairs.

She found Sips leaning against the railing, aiming up through the small gap between the next two flights of stairs. She saw a flash of movement up there and Sips pulled the trigger. The bullet pinged off cement somewhere above them, not hitting its mark.

“Go,” Nano hissed. “I can’t carry him, and he’ll die without immediate medical attention. Get him out of here.”

“It’s Turps,” Sips said, not moving.

“I’ll get him. You go.” Nano gave him a small shove. He hesitated a moment longer, then nodded and started down the stairs.

Nano climbed the stairs, moving silently, her gun sweeping ahead of her. She kept close to the wall so she wouldn’t be visible over the railing.

When she’d gone up two flights, she heard footsteps moving overhead. Turps was coming down the stairs carefully. He probably thought Nano had gone with Sips to move Sjin out of there, although he wasn’t so stupid as to charge recklessly after them. She flattened herself back against the wall and waited, aiming her gun at the next landing.

Turps’s legs came into view. Nano waited. He took another step forward, holding his gun in a double-handed grip. On his next step, she pulled the trigger.

It met its mark with the distinctive sound of a bullet on Kevlar. Turps jumped backwards, swearing loudly. Nano stormed up the stairs, following his retreat, letting out two more bullets. One of them hit the wall but the other caught Turps in the arm, and he dropped his gun, clutching at his wound.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Turps shouted as she continued to advance. “Don’t shoot!”

“Why not?” she asked, stopping a few feet away from him and taking aim at his stupid face.

“Because I know where Jones is,” he said immediately.

Nano hesitated. “So do I,” she said after a pause. “Rythian has him.”

“Rythian gave him to us,” Turps said. “He’s here, in this building.”

“You’re lying.”

“We asked him if he had any last words to give you.” Turps coughed. “He, uh, said you weren’t his girlfriend? Sorry if that comes as a shock.”

Nano shot him in the chest and he shouted with pain as the bullet cracked his ribs through the Kevlar. He scrambled up two steps and she followed him aggressively, keeping the barrel of the gun in his face.

“Where is he?” she growled.

“Upstairs,” Turps squeaked.

“Where?”

“Thirteenth floor.” Turps nodded up the stairs. “I swear, he’s up there.”

Nano stared at him for a long moment, measuring his sincerity. Then she lowered her gun.

“Thank you,” Turps said. “I knew you were an upstanding—”

She fired twice, once into each of his knees. Then she jogged up the stairs past him, relishing the sound of his screams.

* * *

### Zoey

Zoey didn’t let go of Fiona for the entire drive from the Maze Bank Arena to YogLabs. She wanted to verify that Fiona was okay with her own two hands, and even after Fiona assured her that she was okay apart from a bump on her head, Zoey couldn’t peel herself away.

Rythian drove, keeping his foot on the accelerator just about the entire time through the city. His jaw was set. Zoey had seen that look before. It had been about Lalna that time, too, except maybe not in the same way.

“They were okay,” Fiona said, hugging Zoey tightly. “I mean they were assholes, but they weren’t terrible. I’m fine.”

“They told me they were going to cut off your fingers,” Zoey mumbled against her neck.

“They did?” Fiona chewed her lower lip. “They didn’t tell me that part.”

“There’s something going on at YogLabs,” Rythian said, interrupting them. He hit the brakes, sending them both lurching against their seat belts. Ahead of them, a cluster of employees was gathered around the entrance to the skyscraper, and a fire engine was just arriving.

“Do you think Lalna did something?” Zoey suggested hopefully.

Rythian said nothing, jerking the car half up onto the curb and coming to a complete stop. A few of the employees turned their way quizzically. He got out of the car.

“You stay safe,” Zoey said to Fiona. “Take the car and hide somewhere. Don’t let anything happen.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fiona said, peeling Zoey’s fingers off her arm. “Go save Lalna. I’m okay.”

“Fi—”

“Go!”

Zoey kissed her girlfriend on the cheek, then unwound herself and crawled out of the car. Rythian was already halfway to the building, shoving his way through the crowd. She sprinted after him.

They made it to the front doors before the firefighters, and Rythian shoved open the front door, ignoring the shouting. Zoey yanked out her badge and flashed it at the nearest firefighter, not slowing. Rythian headed straight for the stairwell.

The door to the stairwell crashed open as they reached it. Zoey’s hand jerked toward her gun. A man staggered out, half-dragging another man with him. Zoey knew that second man—it was Sjin, whose face she had seen many times in Rythian’s obsessive stalking days. He was in bad shape, soaked with blood.

Rythian stopped dead. “What are you—”

“Out of my way,” the tall man said, barreling past them. Zoey stepped aside and watched them go for the front doors. Rythian hesitated a moment longer, then turned and pushed open the stairwell door.

There were traces of blood on the stairs, and when they got around the eighth floor, there was a lot of it. Zoey counted the flights as they climbed. It was easy if she pretended it was a PT test, since she excelled at those. She passed Rythian eventually and got to the thirteenth floor first. The door here was marked “Maintenance,” unlike the others, which had all been numbered. She wondered how many people had passed that door without a second thought.

Zoey pushed the door open into a hallway that had sound proofing on the walls. That was disturbing enough, but the smell of chemicals tipped it over into horror-movie territory. The doors along the hallway were numbered but had no other identifying characteristics.

Honeydew hadn’t known which room Lalna might be in, so Zoey tried the handle on the first door. It opened into a small, empty interrogation room. Rythian arrived and went for the next door down.

“Lalna?” Zoey called, closing that door and moving on to the next.

Down the hallway, another door flew open. Both Zoey and Rythian turned. Nano leaned out into the hallway and looked at them, then ducked back in.

“Nano!” Rythian called, jogging after her. “Wait!”

Zoey caught up to Rythian and jerked him backward as two bullets sunk into the wall next to him. Rythian stumbled back against Zoey.

“No, you don’t understand,” Rythian started.

“We come in peace!” Zoey added.

There was a silence in the other room. They both waited.

“Turps said you gave Lalna to him,” Nano said finally.

Zoey chewed her lower lip. “Well, he kidnapped my girlfriend.”

Another pause. “Oh.”

“We’re not going to shoot you,” Rythian said. “We’re just looking for Lalna. Is he in there with you?”

Nano’s head peeked out the doorway. Rythian and Zoey both showed her their empty hands, and she stepped out into the hallway, her own gun out but aimed at the floor.

“Not in here,” she said.

Zoey cupped her hands around her mouth. “Lalna!” she shouted.

Nano shot her a withering look. “I tried that,” she said.

Rythian, his hands still open and empty, edged past her. Nano stepped back, giving him a wide berth. He went to the next door in the hallway and shoved it open.

Zoey had checked two more rooms before she heard the dull thump. She abandoned the door she’d been trying to open and ran toward the sound. Rythian joined her as she found the room and burst in.

It was a brightly lit lab, smelling sharply of chemicals. In the corner of the room, a blue plastic barrel, on its side, was bumping up against a counter. As Zoey ran toward it, it shuddered with another loud thud.

“Jesus,” Rythian said. They both went for the barrel. The lid was screwed down tightly, and when Zoey tried to wrench it open, it wouldn’t budge. Nano appeared in the doorway and her expression turned to horror when she processed the situation.

“Hang on,” Rythian said. He dragged the barrel upright. The thudding turned frantic. Zoey wrapped her arms around the lid, getting a better grip on it this time, and twisted until it popped off.

As soon as she pulled the lid off, Rythian shoved the barrel over. Foul smelling liquid sheeted across the floor, and Lalna tumbled out onto the linoleum, choking and coughing.

“Lalna!” Nano said, throwing herself onto the floor next to him. She rolled him onto his side and started pounding him on the back while he coughed. “You dumbass, how did you get yourself in there?”

Zoey dropped down to the floor next to the both of them, feeling as if her strings had been cut. She was so relieved that she could cry. If Lalna hadn’t come out of this alive, she would never have forgiven herself.

She looked up at Rythian, who stood over them with his arms crossed. She thought that if she and Nano hadn’t been there, he would be acting like Nano was, but right now he was going for relieved but aloof.

“We should get out of here,” he said. “The building might be on fire.”

“Oh.” Nano sat up straight. “Right. About that.”

That was when the bomb went off.


	18. Epilogue

### Rythian

The Chumash safe house was on the beach. It was really kind of impressive that the LSPD had managed to get a safe house in a place with such high property values; even though it was only a beach-side shack without air conditioning, it must have cost a cool million at the very least. It had probably been seized in a drugs bust at some point.

Lalna wandered through the house ahead of Rythian, his skin still faintly pink from mild chemical burns. There was a hard core of guilt in the pit of Rythian’s stomach that got worse every time he saw the burns or the bruises. Letting Brindley’s men take Lalna had been a gamble that they had nearly lost.

“I can see the ocean!” Lalna said from the doorway of one of the bedrooms. Rythian joined him, looking into a small, airy room with a double bed and big windows. There were more expensive houses between them and the water, but Rythian could see a slice of blue between them. Lalna cranked open the window and leaned out into the breeze.

“This’ll be my room,” he said.

“Fair enough,” Rythian said. When Lalna glanced back at him, he wondered if he was being too blatantly contrite, but then Lalna grinned at him and bounded past him again into the hall.

“Unless there’s a better room,” Lalna said, disappearing into the next room. “Oh, hey, this one has a TV!”

Rythian followed. It was just him on duty right now; Zoey had taken a couple days off to hang out with Fiona and reassure herself that everything was okay. He certainly didn’t blame her.

The next bedroom did have a TV, although it had two twin beds. Lalna sat down on the edge of one, testing its bounciness. Christ, how could he take such childish joy in things when Rythian had pried him out of a barrel full of acid just last night? Rythian could no longer attribute it to dimwittedness, and he knew that there were some things that Lalna did not take in stride, which made it all the more wondrous to see him like this so soon after Rythian had, well. Betrayed him in the worst possible way.

“No, I still like the other room better,” Lalna said, looking up at him with a smile that faltered momentarily when he saw Rythian’s expression. Rythian straightened up, embarrassed.

“Uh, yeah, whichever one you want,” Rythian said. “You’ll be spending the most time here.”

“Rythian,” Lalna said, and paused, chewing on his lower lip. Rythian averted his gaze.

“I’ll get the stuff from the—” Rythian started.

“Look,” Lalna said, cutting him off. “I know why you did what you did. I get it. You do what you have to do to save Fiona, right? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You almost died,” Rythian said stiffly.

“And if they’d done that to Fiona, she probably would have died!” Lalna said. “It’s okay. It all worked out.”

“You sound like Zoey.” Rythian couldn’t keep a note of bitterness from his voice. “You can’t just forgive something like that at the drop of a hat.”

“Why not?” Lalna stood up, his expression serious. “Of course I can. I just did.”

“It doesn’t work like that. I gave you to two people who I knew were planning on torturing you to death. I broke my word to you. It doesn’t matter how it turned out. The fact is that I did it.”

Lalna came toward him as he spoke, and stopped in front of him. Rythian broke off from whatever else he was going to say, uncomfortable with Lalna’s direct regard.

“I shot you,” Lalna said. “At the bank that time. That was probably me, if I’m being honest.”

Rythian swallowed. His mouth was dry.

“How about we call it even? I almost killed you and you almost killed me.”

“You—” Rythian’s voice was rough. He stopped and swallowed again. “They don’t just cancel each other out.”

“They could. It’s up to you. There are no actual rules on forgiveness. I’m not talking criminal charges, I just mean, you know…. How you feel.” Lalna shrugged. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

Rythian stared at him. The truth was, this grudge he had been holding for so many years was exhausting. He couldn’t hate Lalna anymore, not after everything that had happened, and the only thing keeping him back from letting it go was just habit. He’d been on a path of vengeance for so long that he wasn’t sure what it would be like without it.

Yet on the other side of the coin, he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for what he had done, even if Lalna was ready to. It felt like a cheat. He should recuse himself from being on protection detail entirely, since he clearly couldn’t be trusted with Lalna’s safety.

He opened his mouth to say some of that—any of that—but instead he heard himself say, “Can I kiss you?”

Lalna’s eyes widened slightly, and Rythian immediately backpedaled. “Shit, I didn’t—I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. You’re in my custody, that’s an abuse of power, I should never have—”

Lalna reached out and grabbed his hand as Rythian stepped backward, cutting him off mid-word. “No, that’s—yes. Yes, you can.”

Rythian stayed where he was, dumbfounded, and Lalna took that opportunity to step in.

The kiss was slow, tentative but curious. Rythian hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, and hadn’t kissed a man in even longer, but it was as natural as breathing. Lalna tasted like coffee and toothpaste, and his body was warm where it pressed up against Rythian’s chest.

He brought his hand up behind Lalna’s head, sliding through his hair, and deepened the kiss. He could already feel heat pooling in his stomach, but he firmly told that part of himself to calm down. It had just been a really long time.

Finally, reluctantly, Rythian drew back from the kiss. Lalna’s breathing had quickened and his cheeks were pink, and Rythian wondered if it had been a while for him, too.

“I’m—” Rythian started.

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Jesus.”

Rythian smiled despite himself. “I’m…glad. That you made it out of there alive.”

Lalna grinned at him. “Me too,” he said giddily. “Come on. Let’s go unpack the car. We have a game of Civ to finish.”

* * *

  


### Nano

Nano stood on the ugly concrete bridge over the river in East Los Santos, resting her elbows on the railing. Traffic breezed by behind her, and a stiff breeze off the river brought the stink of sewerage to her nose. Ah, Los Santos. Home, sweet home.

There had been enough of an uproar around the explosion in YogTowers that it had been easy to avoid the authorities. After making sure Lalna was really okay, Nano had parted ways with him and his protection detail and had made her way out of there. She didn’t have any intention of being questioned for her part in that whole event. She had a bus ticket over the border burning a hole in her pocket, and once she got into Mexico, she planned to fly to Kuala Lumpur and spend a few months with family until the heat died down. Maybe she’d reconsider her options when the trial was over.

Sips had texted her a few hours ago, showing a picture of Sjin propped up in a bed, giving the camera a weak thumbs up. They couldn’t have gone to a hospital, but she knew the two of them had a lot of shady connections. They’d be fine, and Sjin was probably thrilled with the personal attention he was getting from Sips, however long that was going to last.

She hadn’t heard anything from the Stunt Lads yet, but they were probably still en route to wherever it was they had decided to go. She was looking forward to seeing their next episode.

Nano’s phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the screen. It was an automatic email from her bank, confirming a transfer of a quarter of a million dollars. Her shoulders relaxed. That was that, then. Mission accomplished. She could get a much nicer apartment now. One without an annoying roommate who used up all the hot water and never did the dishes.

Nano closed her eyes and breathed in the stink of the river. There was a niggling sense memory going off in her brain, triggered by the smell. She wasn’t too far from the scrap yard, after all.

She went up on her tip-toes, leaning over the railing, and looked straight down into the water below. The water was mostly opaque, reflecting the bright blue sky overhead, but when a breeze rippled the surface, she caught the briefest glimpse of silver down there. Sunlight glinted off the curved edge of a tank, and then it was gone again.

 _Hide_ , said Mother.

Resting back down on her feet, Nano thought for a second, then turned away from the railing with an idle shrug. She had a bus to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
